


The Four Innocents: The End and Beyond

by Azalea542



Series: The Four Innocents [8]
Category: The Monkees (TV)
Genre: 1960's, Alternate Universe - Earth, Gen, Male Friendship, Spiritual, friendship better than romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-03 02:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19454359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azalea542/pseuds/Azalea542
Summary: Prepare for a tale of much angst and woe. Those who stick it through will be rewarded with a happy ending.





	1. Beginning of the End

THE END AND BEYOND

_“Nothing but heaven itself is better than a friend who is really a friend.”_

_\--Plautus_

Sometimes it looks on earth as if evil has won. But rest assured, it hasn’t. In the end, when God brings His children home, good will triumph.

\--Amity Boone

CHAPTER ONE: BEGINNING OF THE END

Saturday, March 1st, 1969

Voices rang out. "OLE!"

Genie, pretending to be someone names Juana Cervantes, thought back on how, mostly in the old days, matadors would pray before the statue of Mary. All over Spain, such statues existed, meticulously cared for through the centuries, and people would go to them asking for protection, blessings, or guidance. Genie thought she needed some of that guidance, but she was afraid she would have to give up her own will to obey it.

A fresh bull, magnificent and beautiful, strolled into the corrida, its head held erect, seemingly naive to the trials which awaited it. Darts were aimed at him. Later, picadores astride tired horses stuck lances into the gallant creature's neck, and its head began to sink. Soon its neck was curved in the image Genie associated with the Spanish fighting bull. She had read somewhere that only when the head had weakened from wounds and exhaustion could the matador deliver the fatal blow.

When the picadores had finished their job, the matador stepped back into the center of attention. The bull was taunted into charging; the matador would cleverly outwit it, stepping gracefully out of its path. Blood flowed more and more from the troubled bull; soon would come the moment of truth, the slaying of the noble beast. A fatal stroke was delivered, the bull once proud now sunk to its knees.

"It's detestable, isn't it?" a Cockney voice asked.

Looking at the middle-aged, snub nosed man beside her, Genie, alias Juana, replied, "Si, el toro was not much of a fighter."

"Eh, why should he want to play along with their vicious games?"

"Perhaps you are right. Maybe he was a fighter of the soul, not of the body. Then I should say he did the best he could."

"But there's only so much one can take. Can I buy you a drink?"

Genie did not look at the man, but stared straight ahead. "Why should you want to do that?"

"Oh, I don't know," he began slowly. "Even though we may have differing opinions on the bullfight, I still find you an attractive young lady."

"Should that concern me?" Genie retorted with indifference.

The man was undaunted. "You're something of a... **genie** , perhaps I should say?"

She looked at him. "You have something to tell me?"

"Let's go for that drink, why don't we?"

They adjourned to his hotel room, so that Genie could drop her Spanish accent and find out what information this contact had to pass on. "Who sent you?"

"An old 'friend' of yours. He calls himself Nuke."

"Nuke?" She grimaced. "Sure, we worked a few schemes and what not together, so long as it was to our mutual advantage, but I never liked him."

"Doesn't matter. He's in prison again. He escaped and tried new ventures under different identities, but his mistake, as he admits it, was sticking around in southern California instead of moving on."

"So what happened?"

"Do-gooder teen spies."

Genie raised her eyebrows.

"He says they've ruined some of your schemes before," the stranger continued. "A band of young men known as the Four Innocents."

Genie smiled slightly. "Ah, yes. Matt Winward and his gang."

"Anyway, it seems all this time they've been contacts for the Double Eye Bee. They go to all the counter-culture hang-outs, then report back all the illegal going-ons to the government."

"Yes, they can be a nuisance. But they're all right."

"Well, of course, they're all right. That's what Nuke detests about them. This is the third time they've landed him in the slammer, and other times they've told on business partners of his. Well, he told my contact to find you, and tell you that he's not taking any more of their nonsense."

Genie placed her hands on her hips. "And what exactly does he want me to do about it?"

"Kill one of them. Teach the rest a lesson."

They stared at each other. Finally, Genie said, "Why should I want to do that?"

The stranger put a briefcase up on his hotel bureau. "Why should you want to do that?" he repeated. Opening the case, he revealed a fortune in United States currency. "For love or money, my dear. Or love of money."

“Which one should I kill? Not Matt, I hope. He doesn’t expect me to kill Matt?”

“No, Matt’s the bandleader. He’s the one who needs to learn the lesson the most. Losing a bandmate is what will kill him.” The stranger shrugged. “It’s multiple choice, sweetie. Which one of the other three do you want to do in?”


	2. A Matter of Life and Death

CHAPTER TWO: A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH

I

Saturday, March 15, 1969

It was a piercingly chilly day. Clouds sheltered the sky, but the moon managed to shed some light on the stark trees and the brown grass. As the Four Innocents walked by the side of their house and down to the shore, they kept close together and drew up their coats. The wind bit right through them anyway, whistling past and funneling into their ears. "Cold out here, isn't it?" Timmy understated, shivering. "It usually starts warming up by now."

"Yeah, but don't forget, water always makes it chillier," Danny pointed out. "And we do live on the coast."

Matt glanced back at the beachhouse. "I wonder how much longer we'll live here."

"Yeah, what with our first album coming out," Patrick chimed in.

"Supposing it sells," Matt interjected. "Or we still may be living here. But it's been good to us."

Soon they had left home for Mary and Larry's estate, where a party was being held in honor of both their first album and the debut of the Merry Music record label. Besides Mary and Larry, other acts for future LP's were present, and some staff workers.

"Three, or should I say four, cheers to the Four Innocents!" Mary exclaimed, holding up her wineglass.

Larry also lifted his up. "In their honor, there's no wine in these wineglasses--this is grape juice!

Everybody laughed and cheered, and sipped their grape juice. They dined on a sumptuous multi-course dinner, and listened to pre-recorded music from Mary and Larry, the Four Innocents, and unreleased tracks by Merry Music's other artists.

During the whole dinner, Matt could not help staring at a lady who had been briefly introduced as Jane Stantz, a newly hired housemaid. She had straight, long red hair. Currently not on duty, she wore a dress resembling an overcoat. A smart tan hat rested at a slant upon her head. Something about her disturbed Matt; as though he had met her before, and that meeting had not been pleasant.

II

Around ten o'clock, people began shuffling out, and by ten-thirty, only the Four Innocents, Mary and Larry, and their domestic helpers were left. They were all feeling rather lazy, and wandered about the house, fiddling around with instruments or albums, and flipping through radio and TV channels. Then Mary decided to blast away with the stereos, hoping to chip away at what she called the “overwhelming gloominess” of the house.

Patrick had been eating a corner piece of chocolate cake using only his hands. He licked some of the gooey frosting off his fingers, but decided to rinse his hands in the kitchen sink. He was startled by Jane’s voice. “I was wondering if you could help me.”

“Hunh?”

“Mr. Music wanted me to move some stuff out of the basement. You look nice and strong.”

Patrick rubbed his arm. “It’s those exercises Matt makes us do.”

“Will you come?”

“Sure,” Patrick agreed readily, following her and forgetting to turn off the faucet. “You know, not many California homes have basements. I guess Mary and Larry have one because they’re rich.”

“Mmm,” Jane uttered. Patrick guessed she was not one for small talk.

They walked in uneasy silence down to the basement. Jane closed the door. Patrick didn’t notice. He stood in the middle of the nearly vacant room. Just a few boxes were piled up along the left wall. “Where do we start?”

He felt Jane’s presence behind him. That didn’t concern him until she grabbed him and placed a knife at his throat. The bejewelled weapon was quite beautiful—but no less capable of doing the job.

When Patrick found his voice, he had a question. “Why?”

“Someone wants revenge. Someone wants one of you dead. It is not my idea.”

“Then why--?”

“—But I will carry out the job I have been hired to do. That is, to take an Innocent life.”

Patrick just breathed.

“I chose you because you are so trusting, so docile. You will be easy to kill, like a deer being hunted.”

Patrick whimpered.

Sometime past midnight, Timmy, who had been glancing longingly through travel books in the library, realized he hadn't seen Patrick for a while. His friend had been with him most of the evening, but some time ago had said he was going to the kitchen to see if there was anything left to nibble on.

After donning his jacket, Timmy went to the kitchen, sure he would find somebody there, for he heard water running. But the room was deserted; the sink was beginning to overflow. Timmy turned off the faucet and pulled the plug so the sink could drain. "Patrick?" he called out. He left the kitchen, and walked down the hall, glancing into various rooms. "You seen Patrick?" he asked Mary.

"No."

"Okay." He thought he heard some noise from below, although it could have just been the bass from the stereos, so he decided to try the basement next.

The basement door was closed. Timmy knocked. "Patrick?"

"Tim--" he heard Patrick say before he was abruptly cut off.

A cold chill ran through Timmy's body. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if what he was doing was wise. “I’m coming, Patrick!" He threw the door open.

"Come in, Rowe," a feminine voice said, and he recognized the woman as Jean Stantz. "Well, Patrick, aren't you going to make your bandmate feel welcome? Say hello!"

"Hi," Patrick squeaked. Jane had one arm tightly around his neck, and her other hand held the bejeweled dagger.

"What are you trying to do to him?" Timmy demanded, creeping down the basement stairs.

"Calm down, Timmy," Jane chided, pausing from her planned murder. "I don't want you. Just don't interfere and nothing will happen to you." 

Timmy looked upon his frightened friend. How people could abuse Patrick, he would never fathom. "Please don't kill him," he begged, circling Jane but keeping an arm’s length away. He pulled off his outer jacket and dropped it on the floor, never taking his eyes of Jane and Patrick.

Jane mirrored his movements, dragging Patrick along, and they appeared to be engaged in a circular and macabre dance. Curious as to what Timmy would say, she stalled. "Why not kill him? Besides the reason that it would be unbiblical and unethical."

"Cause he's my best friend." 

"He's you best friend and you love him very much, right?" Jane asked. 

Timmy nodded. “I could never live without him.”

“I need reasons that would benefit me. Don't expect me to care about that."

"Why do you want to kill him anyway?"

"We've all met before," Jane announced. "You don't seem to recognize me, but I know all of you. You may perhaps know me by my handle of Genie."

"Genie? Nuke's partner?"

"Exactly. And, anyway, he'd like the opportunity to cause your band a little bit of pain." With the last word, she reinforced her grip on Patrick.

Timmy gulped, then asked, "Killing any one of us would cause the band pain, you know."

Patrick looked confused, but Genie realized what he was getting at. "You have a bargain in mind, then?"

"Right. Me for him. He goes free and whatever you were planning to do to him you can take out on me."

"You would do that for him?" Genie wondered. She sounded genuinely surprised.

"Timmy!" Patrick cried. "You idiot!"

"I'd rather you not," Genie continued. "You see, twice I saved your life, and killer though I may be, I still have traces of sentiment."

"And I thank you for those two times," Timmy told her. "I prefer you don't kill me, too, or anybody, especially Patrick. But if you must take someone..." He left the sentence hanging, as if realizing for the first time that his own life was at stake.

No time for regrets. Genie sighed. "It's a deal."

"Timmy, please, you don't have to do this!" Patrick cried. He knew his bandmate had always had to deal with feelings of guilty obligation. 

"It's okay, Patrick, I want to do this," Timmy reassured.

"Be grateful, Keefe," Genie reminded the ordinarily quiet boy, who was protesting loudly and struggling to break free of her grasp. She slipped her dagger into its sheathe, then released him briefly, only to use her fist to send him reeling to the ground. Patrick lay helplessly unconscious. "I never had friends like you do."

She approached Timmy, who did not move away from her. "You make no opportunity to escape," she observed. “The door’s unlocked—-you could make a run for it.”

"If I go back on my end of the deal, you might go back on yours."

"True. That is not something you want to risk?"

"No," Timmy replied, as Genie wrapped her arms around him. "What--?" he began to ask, but she silenced him with a passionate kiss. While her lips were stealing passion from his, she clutched her weapon. Her other hand pushed up the light sweater he was wearing. Then, as she was about to draw away, she threw him against the wall and plunged the dagger into his chest.

Meanwhile, Danny stared at Matt. Despite all the loud music, Matt’s head was tilted back, and he was snoring. Danny settled back into the couch. _Maybe I can get to sleep, too_ _¼_

Timmy lay on the cold floor, too weak and nauseated to move. He did not want to look and see how badly he had been hurt. He lifted the hand he had been holding over his wound. It was soaked with blood. 

He could hear Patrick’s breathing. _C’mon, Patrick, wake up! It’s bad enough I won’t see Matt and Danny one more time. Don’t let me die alone! Please, Lord, don’t let me die without one of my friends to keep me company._

He tried to concentrate. On anything. His heart beating, his bleeding, the noise from Mary’s stereos. He had to keep from succumbing to shock, so he could speak to Patrick. Still, he imagined that he felt his body beginning to shut down, part by part.

_Somehow I don’t hate her. She kissed me. Then she ripped me open. Then she blew me another kiss as she made her escape. She has no idea what she wants; what she’s doing._

_Man, I really didn’t think when I got up this morning, that this was going to be my last day._

_Matt wanted me to move up to the next weight level in my exercise routine this_ _week. Let’s see, what other chore did he ask me to do? I guess it doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters now except saying goodbye._

_I used to yearn for this day. I used to wish I were dead. But now I have them. I don’t want to leave them. But if God wills it-—He comes even before them._

He could hear the radio that Mary had turned up so loud. A car dealership ad, that annoyingly perky girl singing about soda¼ _This is the last thing I hear on earth,_ Timmy thought grimly. _Why not one of our songs?_

Just then, he thought he heard Patrick awake.

Slowly, Patrick stirred, groaning. He stumbled to his hands and knees, and realized in horror where he was. He rushed over to Timmy's side. Genie was nowhere in sight. "Timmy! You all right? You still alive?"

Timmy reached a trembling, bloodstained hand out to his friend. “Hold on, Timmy!” Patrick ran up the basement stairs and pounded on the door, now locked.

“Patrick!” Timmy cried weakly. “Patrick!” His friend looked around. “I need you here.”

Patrick ran back down to him. “You’re really going to die¼aren’t you?” he asked slowly. He would have been horrified by the sight of that much blood draining from anyone, but the fact that it was his beloved friend made him realize he had to come nearer, not run away. He grabbed Timmy’s discarded jacket, then took a seat on the floor. He lifted Timmy's head up and cradled it on his lap. He did not worry about increasing the damage. His heart told him it was too late, though he tried to stop the flow of blood by cramming Timmy’s jacket over the wound. His friend's angst and pain were visibly calmed by the warmth of his touch, though his body continued to twitch involuntarily. "Timmy, you can't die," Patrick insisted. "What about the band?"

“I’m sorry about that,” the young man uttered.

“No, don’t be sorry. No guilt. No guilt anymore.” Patrick swallowed. “Timmy, I love you,” he said in his tender voice. Before his friend could respond, Patrick blurted, “Don’t say it! I _know_ you love me, too.” He managed a weak chuckle.

"Tell Matt and Danny I love them," the drummer said softly, between gasps for air. 

“They know.”

“Tell them again!” Timmy insisted, and Patrick realized how anguished he was that he wasn’t able to see his other two best friends once more before leaving this world.

Patrick nodded reluctantly but understandingly. "I will," he promised. "Don't worry." For what he knew would be the last time on earth, he met Timmy's gaze. Often through the years, Patrick had seen his eyes tormented with needless guilt, but now he was encouraged to see they finally shone peacefully. "Oh, Timmy, I don't want you to have to die for me."

"I don't regret it," Timmy made clear, smiling weakly. “I--” Suddenly he gasped, his body jerking. Patrick grasped him tighter, desperately shutting his eyes.

Then Timmy fell still, horribly still. Patrick shuddered, stunned into silence. His friend's blue eyes continued to stare at him, but their warm glow had ebbed away. 

III

The Four Innocents were so close that each of them carried a piece of the others' souls within him. Matt and Danny, tired from the party, had fallen into a blissful, naive sleep while Timmy lay dying, but the moment he had gone, they knew it, awaking with a start. Matt shivered, and turned to Danny. "Did you feel something?"

Apprehensively, Danny blurted, "No. No, I didn't."

Matt wasn't sure if either his tension had frightened his

bandmate, or if he had been lying both to his bandleader and

himself. "I felt like something terrible just happened."

"I told you, stop worrying," Danny advised, his shaky voice incapable of making the advice sound sincere.

Matt couldn't get the notion out of his head. "No, it was like--"

"Shut up, Matt!" Danny cried. "I don't want to hear it."

"All right," Matt agreed. He was not insulted, for he knew that Danny was only trying to hide his fear from himself.

"Matt?" Danny asked quietly. "He's gone, isn't he?"

Matt looked at Danny, about to reply, but then he said instead, "We're imagining things."

"Both of us?"

Matt shook his head. "We'll know soon enough."

As Patrick sat in the dim light, still holding Timmy's body and still crying, his thoughts wandered to the times they had spent together. Their first meeting. Playing out back in the tide. Horseback riding. Patrick screamed to get rid of the quick succession of happy memories which were now suddenly painful. He had to scream many times, and sometimes when he screamed, words and curses he never thought he’d say crossed his pure lips. “Timmy, you said you couldn’t live without me! Well, how do you expect _me_ to live without _you?_ ”

Finally exhausted from all his shouting, Patrick looked at Timmy once more. "Why can't things ever remain the same? Timmy, why'd you leave us, why did you let yourself die?" He held on tightly to the body in his arms; it was still warm. Part of him thought that doing so was futile--the essence of his friend, his soul, was no longer being held there. He had even felt it leave. He glanced suddenly behind him, for it felt like someone had squeezed his shoulder. He saw no one.

"Somewhere you're out there," Patrick realized. "But I'll miss you." Patrick had once thought his own life was without value, having been an unplanned child conceived in rape. These days, he knew better; he knew he had something he must give the world. His friends had shown him that, especially now. "I'll make the most out of what you've given me, Timmy. I promise."

Matt and Danny asked Mary and Larry and the domestic helpers if they had seen Timmy or Patrick. "No," everyone replied, including Jane Stantz, who casually left for her own home, caressing her lips with her fingers. Matt raised an eyebrow at her departing form; was she dressed differently than before?

Mary finally had the sense to turn the stereos off, so that the search would be made easier. Passing by the basement, Matt and Danny heard Patrick's muted screams. Danny clutched Matt's arm as they headed down the steps.

The door that the noise originated behind was locked. “Patrick, we’ll be in in a minute,” Danny called out encouragingly. Larry unlocked it, telling Mary to stay back. He could tell by Matt and Danny’s demeanor that something unpleasant was going on.

Patrick was standing at the top of the steps, and they could see his face was red with tears. Matt held him, and Danny ran down to the body. "Aw, no! It's true." He knelt, looking into Timmy's vacant stare. "So long, partner," Danny whispered, and shut his eyelids.

"We never even got to say goodbye," Matt realized.

Danny nodded. "If only we could have just talked to him one last time," he said, his voice choked with the coming tears.

"He did tell me to tell both of you something," Patrick

broke in. "You know, that he loves you. He wanted to be able to see you one last time..." He shook his head. "It should've been me. He took my place. I didn't want him to, but‑‑" 

Matt could feel Patrick's guilt. "He died for you? It's the only way Timmy would have had it," Matt told him. "You know that, so don't be blaming yourself, you hear me?"

"We know how much he loved you," Danny added, streams of tears cascading down from each eye.

Patrick shook his head. "He died right in my arms."

"I'm sure that made it easier on him," Danny said.

"Who did this to him?" Matt demanded.

"Genie."

"Genie?"

"Or Jane."

Matt let out a yell of anguish and frustration. "I knew I knew her from somewhere." He let go of his traumatized bandmate, and Danny promptly held Patrick instead. Matt went over and knelt by Timmy, his knees getting stained with blood. Matt sniffled and played with a curl of his dead bandmate’s hair. He ran a finger along the outline of Timmy’s nose. “Rest easy now,” he murmured.

Patrick looked on. “He was at peace, Matt.”

Mary tried to get through to the stairs, but her husband blocked her way. “No, Mary, you’re not going down there.”

“I have to know what happened!” she pleaded, tears already in her eyes. She sank slowly to the floor as her husband pushed back on her wrists.

“Mary, there’s been a murder!” he told her in a loud whisper.

She was wild-eyed. “Who? Not one of the Fo—“

Larry sighed, keeping a firm grip on her arms. “It’s Timmy. He’s dead. I saw him. I don’t want you to see him now, like this. I’m sorry.”

After various visits from police and paramedics, the three boys were finally able to go home. It looked like Patrick was going to be a suspect for awhile, but an officer that knew the kids from St. Francis Park was able to convince the others that the investigation need not delve deep into that theory. Besides, everyone was pointing their finger at Genie/Jane.

It was light out when they arrived at the beachhouse. Matt had not had time to cry, trying to be strong for his friends, trying to answer all the cops’ questions. True, tears had fallen from his eyes, and his nose had run, but he had not been racked with sobs. Sighing, he fumbled for the key. He put his hand on the knob, then it all hit him. He sunk into a kneeling position, wailing, resting his forehead on the door. Though Danny and Patrick were weary and wanted to change out of their bloodstained clothing, they silently waited for him to finish, knowing the pain their bandleader was going through, but too exhausted to lay even one comforting hand on his shoulder. 

They had left as four and come back as three.


	3. Patrick's Odyssey

CHAPTER THREE: PATRICK’S ODYSSEY

I

_They were standing on the only street in a ghost town, one about to search north, one about to search south. Patrick didn’t want to separate. He told Timmy so. “What if I never see you again?”_

_Timmy looked him straight in the eye. “You **will** see me again. If not here, then in the next world.”_

_“That doesn’t count,” Patrick said, sticking out his lower lip in a pout. “I want to see you here.”_

_“Patrick, you will see me again. I swear.” He spoke tender words, yet he seemed somehow distant. Then he smiled his warm and endearing smile. Patrick smiled back hesitantly. Timmy squeezed his shoulder and turned away, walking down the road._

_Patrick stared after him until he had disappeared. “You better be right, Timmy.”_

Patrick awoke. The room was bright with a fading afternoon sun. That was right, wasn’t it? It was late in the day?

There was no one else in the room. Matt and Danny must have gone downstairs. And Timmy…Timmy was gone, Patrick realized, memory and reality catching up to his sleepy mind. 

He stared at the floor. Over in the corner lay a pile of their clothes that had been stained by Timmy’s blood. When he had removed his clothes last night, Patrick had been so emotionally exhausted he hadn’t even bothered to put on his pajamas. And so he now found himself clad only in an undershirt and boxer shorts.

Danny walked in quietly. He saw that his friend was conscious. “We let you sleep,” he explained. “You needed it.”

Patrick rose into a sitting position, gathering his legs up into his arms.

“Matt took it upon himself to notify Timmy’s relatives,” Danny continued somberly. “I don’t envy him.” He glanced over at the pile of clothes. “We’re gonna toss those.”

“Timmy was in my dreams,” Patrick said timidly. “Even then I knew he was gone.”

“I—” Danny began, then shook his head, gazing at the floor. “Yesterday at this time—who could’ve foreseen this?”

“I’ll be more upset when it’s been twenty-four hours,” Patrick remarked. “We’ve never been apart that long, not since we’ve moved in together.”

Danny gestured at the room around them. “This was supposed to be forever, you know? Or at least until we were eighty or ninety.”

“It will be again,” Patrick reminded him softly. “And then it really will be forever.”

There was some media attention at Timmy’s memorial service. Mary and Larry were there, and Patrick’s friends, the singer Yolanda Ballard and the heiress Monica Wellington, had come to support him. Mary was terribly upset, feeling if she hadn’t drowned the gloomy house with loud music, they would have heard that something was going on in the basement. As it was, Mary and Larry announced they were moving. Mary insisted that most of the cremation costs be paid by her and her husband.

Among the non-celebrities were E.G. Bland, Francene, and Amity. Beatrix Yanovsky, who had heard of Timmy’s death from television news, appeared dressed, modestly for her, in black from head to toe—black hat, dark shades, black scarf, black dress, and black shoes. She looked every inch a widow, which, Danny thought grimly, was probably exactly what she wanted. She exchanged inappropriately catty looks with another woman, in modest Mexican dress. This dignified young beauty carried a rose with her. Danny tried to talk to her, to find out who she was. She just smiled and mumbled something in Spanish. _“Sentí mucho la noticia de la muerte de su amigo.”_ It was then that Danny recognized her as Rosita, the singer Timmy had met in Mexico, and whom he had continued to talk about on occasion. Danny wondered how she had heard, how she had gotten here, then he remembered she, too, was a singer and might have been nearby for a gig when she heard the news.

Timmy’s mother and her husband had drove in from Oregon, but she did not speak much to the boys. Mr. Rowe had flown in from Connecticut. He showed little respect for Matt, Danny, and Patrick's grief, blaming them for his son’s death. He stood grumpily near the back during the service.

The three surviving boys were in their band uniforms, realizing Timmy hated formal or business wear, and would want it this way. Not everyone at the service understood. In his casket, Timmy had been dressed the same, with a simple wreath of love beads hung around his neck. Danny had placed a pair of his drumsticks in a lifeless hand. He did look peaceful, though, just like Patrick had said he had been when he died. He was not wearing his locket; however, the boys had decided to keep the locket intact rather than having it destroyed with Timmy’s body.

Patrick insisted on playing the organ, though no one recommended it in his state of mind. Resolved, he somehow made it through without any emotional outbursts. Between hymns, he played some of Timmy’s favorite pop numbers, the thoughtful and easy numbers in which Timmy’s troubled mind found solace.

“Look at you!” Eunice said with bitter accusation. “The three of you think your hearts bleed more than mine! But it was I who carried Timmy in my womb for nine months! It was I who watched him grow from a child into a young man!”

Patrick knew he could point out that Eunice had moved away from her son, while the Four Innocents had never spent a day apart. But he knew it was unkind to quibble at a time like this.

Eunice approached him, lifting his face up by his chin. “And you—-you had better make my son’s death worthwhile.”

Patrick was about to reply that he’d try not to fail Timmy and his sacrifice, but his own mother stepped in, laying her hands upon his shoulders. “It was Timmy’s choice to take my son’s place,” Miss Keefe argued gently. “Patrick didn’t make him.”

Eunice stared at her, wild-eyed, for countless seconds. Finally, she grunted and mumbled, “You can see why I’m upset at him, though.” She walked away.

“First Beatrix acting all catty, now this!” Danny exclaimed. “The people at this memorial service are demonstrating the worst behavior I’ve ever seen!”

“What’s that you got there?” Patrick asked Danny curiously.

“Oh, come here, Patrick, sit down.” Patrick sat next to Danny on the armed couch. “Matt and I were looking at these earlier this morning. They’re childhood photos of Timmy that his mother gave us.”

“I thought she hated us now.”

Danny shrugged. “Maybe she just wanted to drive in the point that she’s the one who saw Timmy grow up. Or that he had a life before us.”

“Maybe she’s forgiven us,” Patrick guessed.

Danny started over from the beginning. There were baby photos, of course. One of baby Timmy sitting next to large stuffed dog and squealing. Then one of Timmy amongst a group of other infants and toddlers. “He really stands out,” Patrick remarked.

“Yeah, that bright red hair and those blue eyes,” Danny agreed.

“Hey, how come all these pictures are in color?” Patrick wondered. “I thought all cameras were black and white when we were kids.”

“Mr. Rowe likes things state-of-the-art,” Danny replied. “The best in material possessions.”

The next picture was of toddler Timmy running around naked. He was blissfully unaware of a concept called modesty and the picture was not shot from the backside. “Man, Timmy would’ve died of embarrassment if he saw that photo!” Danny exclaimed casually. He realized what he had said. Would’ve _died_. “I mean—²

“It’s all right,” Patrick assured him. “It’s just an expression. Besides, you’re right, he would’ve.”

“Especially if Timmy’s mom pulled out these photos everytime guests came over.”

There were photos of Timmy with long forgotten friends, of him with his grandparents. Matt came in in time for some photos of Timmy and his dad. “You know, I think Mr. Rowe did love Timmy, looking at these photos,” Danny commented.

“Yeah, too bad Timmy never knew,” Matt said drily, walking to the kitchen.

“You saw photos of me as a kid,” Danny said. “And the Winwards pulled out old photos when they visited us on tour. There’s not a lot of kid pictures of you, Patrick, but I’ve seen a few. More when you pulled out those old pics of you and Yolanda. But this is the first time I’ve seen these photos of Timmy. It’s just funny-—we prided ourselves on knowing everything about each other…” Danny looked helplessly at Patrick and shrugged.

“Timmy was fond of being childlike,” Patrick said carefully. “But he wasn’t fond of his childhood.”

Danny came to the last photo. It was of Timmy sitting at his first and new drumset, a smile on his face-—the same endearing and friendly smile Danny, Patrick, and Matt had grown to know so well. “Well, there he is with his drums,” Danny observed. “The beginning of an era.”

“It ended all too soon,” Patrick said somberly.

Matt dazedly shuffled by and snatched the photo of the infant Timmy with the stuffed dog. “Wittle baby Timmy. So cute.” He walked off muttering cutesy nonsense syllables to himself. Patrick and Danny glanced worriedly at each other.

“Let him go,” Danny advised finally. “We all have to deal with things in our own way.”

II

Patrick sat in the darkness of his studio. He heard Matt's knock. "Patrick, are you in there?" The boy didn't answer, but thought how especially hard Timmy's death must be on their bandleader. Matt used to dote upon Timmy like Timmy had doted on Patrick. "Please answer me. Come on, Patrick, please!"

"Yeah, I'm here," Patrick answered finally.

"May I come in?"

"Yeah."

The door creaked open and Matt turned on the light. "Patrick, please don't be afraid of me. Neither Danny or I hold anything against you."

Patrick sat silent. Matt walked behind his chair and rested his hand on his friend's shoulder. "You know it's not your fault."

Patrick nodded. "Yeah, I know. Still, he died because of me."

"Timmy didn't die **because** of you, Patrick. He died **for** you.

He knew you were worth it. Now, I know because of that you feel that Danny and I will always blame you for taking Timmy away from us. But there was no way both of you could've come out of that alive. If it had been you, I'd be just as upset. That Genie was responsible for everything, not you. Man, she's a murderer, and they do things like that."

Patrick stood up, facing Matt. "Thanks. I do appreciate what Timmy did for me, but it's still gonna be hard."

"I know." Matt's calming manner disappeared as he broke down in tears. "I don't blame you, Patrick," he sobbed. "I blame myself."

"Blame yourself? Why?"

"Cause I'm the bandleader, that's why. The health and welfare of my best friends is up to me, and I failed. Miserably."

"Matt, I don't see anything you could have possibly done. I mean, you weren't even around when it all happened."

"Yeah. I wasn't around."

"That's not what I meant." The Innocents’ bandleader was great at consoling his bandmates, but it could be hard comforting him. "Oh, Matt!" Patrick exclaimed in exasperated sympathy.

Danny burst in, almost casually. “Matt, are you going on that ‘I’m a lousy bandleader’ trip again? I told ya—”

“I know, I know!” Matt insisted, holding a hand to his forehead.

“There’s really nothing you could’ve done,” Danny added more gently.

“I know, I know,” Matt repeated.

There was a moment of silence. Matt continued to hold his hand against his forehead. Patrick gazed at the bottom of his painting.

“That’s a nice seascape,” Danny said, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

“Thanks.”

“Are you doing all seascapes now? What about your caricatures of puppies and kitt—”

As soon as the words came to his lips, Danny knew they had been a mistake. Patrick glared up from his work, fire in his eyes. “I’m not doing puppies anymore. Puppies grow up. They grow old. They die. They’re your best friend. But they don’t last your whole life. Sometimes they die even earlier. They get hit by a car or disappear.” Tears streamed down his face.

Danny felt himself breaking down. He looked at Matt. Matt had his face against the wall. Danny heard his bandleader sob. That did it for him—Danny wailed as well. Patrick rested his face on his wet painting and let his tears smear it.

Matt finally turned around. “Oh, look at us! Each sulking to himself.” He held out his arms gently, but said forcefully, “Come here.”

Danny nodded and stood in front of Matt’s right arm. Patrick, his face stained with paint, came to Matt’s other side. If not for the somber mood, Danny and Matt would have found his splotched face comical.

Matt gathered them in for a group hug. “Look, you know, the only way we’re gonna get through this is together.”

Their ability to cling to each other would soon be proven. It happened on a rainy day. Matt had gone out to run an errand.

Patrick stepped outside the front door of the house. The bit of roof hanging over where he was standing protected him from the full brunt of the little storm. Rain splattered off the sidewalk and on to his ankles and bare feet.

He wished he had a drug to take, a narcotic like all his hippie peers were inhaling or injecting or whatever they did to get it into their system. Then they would forget the harsh reality of the world and enter, for a while, a wonderland. Or maybe they’d just be put in the state of mind where everything, even the smallest, stupidest joke, seemed hilarious.

Patrick had been blessed with the wisdom that such drugs caused more problems than they solved. But he wished, for more than an instant, that he didn’t know what he did.

The rain had picked up and he stepped out into it. And then the raw, delusional power of his mind alone sent him to another state of existence. But it was not a pleasant place.

Blood rained down upon him. It matted his hair. Tears of blood fell from his eyes. He held a drop between his thumb and finger; the liquid was thin and felt like gasoline between his digits when he rubbed them together. The red moisture covered his entire body. Like the blood of Timmy, which had saved his life. Or the blood of Jesus, which had covered his sins and saved his soul.

Nausea overcame him, and he sank to the ground. He lay face down in the mud. _Let me die, Timmy. Let me die, as it should have been._

He lay still. The red rain pelted his back. He wanted to scream, as he had the night of Timmy’s death, but the sound strangled in his throat—-choked with blood, he imagined. So he just cried silently into the mud. The rain beat into him like a thousand needle points.

It had begun to die down when Danny found him. “Patrick! Get up! You’re gonna catch cold. You’ll get sick.”

Patrick opened his eyes and saw his bandmate kneeling beside him. A gentle rain of clear water fell all around…and diluted the puddles of blood on the ground.

Patrick allowed Danny to help him to his feet. “Danny…” He stumbled, but the British boy held him up. “I _am_ sick. I’m already sick.”

“We’ll get you some hot cocoa and a warm blanket,” Danny said, mother-like.

“Okay,” Patrick agreed weakly. That sounded pleasant enough.

Patrick chanced another glance around. The visions of blood were gone. He sighed in relief.

Inside, Danny continued with his motherly ways. “Get out of your damp clothes and take a warm shower, while I get your cocoa ready.”

Patrick nodded and trudged off for the bathroom. He felt decades older than he was.

When he returned, in a simple T-shirt and worn-out jeans, a towel around his neck, he saw a blanket upon the psychiatrist couch. He sat down in its middle, and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. Danny brought him a cup of cocoa.

Matt walked in. “What’s up?” he asked curiously, eyeing the bundled up bass player.

“Patrick got caught out in the rain,” Danny explained.

“I didn’t get caught,” Patrick muttered.

“He’s gonna get sick, I told him.”

“I _am_ sick,” Patrick insisted.

“What do you mean?” Matt demanded, still standing by the door, his arms folded.

“I—uh…” His voice lost its steadiness. Danny put a hand on his shoulder. “Everywhere I go—-everything I do—-I see..blood.”

“Blood?” Danny repeated.

“Tell me that’s not blood running from my eyes now.”

Danny wiped his friend’s tear away. “No, that’s just a regular old teardrop,” he said, examining it as it lay on his fingertip. He brought it to the tip of his tongue and tasted the saline. “Yep, just a regular old tear.”

Matt sat down behind Patrick. “You’ve been traumatized, Pat. We all saw the blood in the basement but you were the one to actually hold Timmy the very moment that he died.”

“I felt him die,” Patrick said somberly. “I felt his spirit slip from his body.”

“Did you?” Danny asked quietly.

“So I know he hasn’t entered ob-ob—” He struggled for the word _oblivion_. “—Darkness. He hasn’t stopped existing.”

“Timmy’s in Heaven,” Danny said agreeably.

“No more guilt trips,” Matt added. The others looked at him. “No more dilemmas, or problems of any sort. Just happiness.”

“Do you think he visits us?” Patrick wondered. “That maybe he’s right here _now_?”

“It’s possible,” Danny replied.

“I hate to do this to him—”

“Do _what_?” Matt asked incredulously. How could you do something to a dead person?

“He died so I would live. But instead, I’ve just been freaking out.”

“Don’t worry, Patrick,” Matt advised gently. “It’s gonna take time, that’s all.”

Patrick looked around. “Can’t you make it go away? The blood visions?”

Matt looked him in the eye. “I wish I could, buddy, but I’d have to get inside your mind.”

Danny sat down to Patrick’s left. He hugged Patrick tightly. “This is the only method I know of for curing unpleasant thoughts.” At the same time, Matt embraced Patrick from the other side. With the blanket and his friends’ arms around him, Patrick suddenly felt very warm—-oddly, from the inside out.

“I just—” Patrick began. “I just don’t want us to ever forget Timmy. If we live a hundred years past this day.”

“No one’s gonna forget Timmy,” Danny reassured.

“Timmy’s the kind people don’t forget,” Matt pointed out. “Beatrix won’t forget him. Rosita certainly didn’t forget him, and she only knew him for less than a day. So we’re certainly not gonna forget Timmy, even if we live many more years than the years we knew him. You get some rest now.”

Matt and Danny got up. Patrick lay down on the couch and fell into into a restful slumber. He dreamed of Timmy and him playing in a green meadow on a sunny day. And there was this puppy, a little Cocker Spaniel…

Patrick awoke. Matt was cleaning some dishes in the kitchen; Danny was nowhere to be seen.

“Matt?”

“Hmmph?”

“Matt?”

“What, buddy?”

“There’s something else that’s been going on. In my mind. Or with my mind. Besides the blood. I can’t talk to Danny about this. I know he wouldn’t understand. But since he’s—where is he?”

“Out back. What is it?” Matt asked gently.

“I’ve been having thoughts..of a kind I’ve rarely had before. I don’t know if they’re caused by the trauma. I mean, I guess they are. But they don’t have anything to directly do with Timmy.”

“Such as?” Matt prompted patiently.

Patrick looked down at the floor, ashamed. “I’ve had..impure thoughts. About girls I’ve known.” He looked up. “I know you said you and Timmy had thoughts like these. Are they wrong?”

“That’s something I still struggle with. Is imagining yourself involved in fornication a sin the same as actually doing it? There’s that passage early in Matthew that seems to say that. But I’ve tried and tried for years now to get rid of them, and they won’t go away.”

Patrick stared at him hopelessly.

Matt smiled wanly. “Don’t fret or torment yourself like Timmy did. Just know that, wrong or not, you’re not alone. The pure minds you and Danny have are the exception to the rule. Just..well, I would try not to center any fantasy around a girl you actually know. It can be embarrassing when you run into her later—-like Monica.”

Patrick hung his head again. “Monica doesn’t deserve to be tainted like that.”

“You would never do anything to hurt her, I know.”

“I still want to be celibate. With all my heart and soul. It’s just that it used to be so easy not to think of..well, you know, sex,” Patrick said with embarrassment. “What’s happened to me?”

Danny came in suddenly. “There’s a whole lot of gulls out there—”

“Okay, I’ll check it out in a minute,” Matt promised. After grabbing a partial loaf of bread, Danny ducked back out.

“I’m just afraid of losing my innocence,” Patrick said worriedly.

Matt stood up to go outside. “Well, from where I stand, I still see a lot of innocence. C’mon and feed the gulls.”

Patrick was sitting on the bandstand, playing a guitar. Danny was standing in the kitchen, finishing off a candy bar. He was trying to drown his sorrow in junk food. Matt walked onto the bandstand, picking up his electric guitar. “We’re gonna have to do something,” he announced.

Danny and Patrick looked up.

“I know it’s something none of us wants to bring up, but it has to be. What about the band?”

“In regards to what?” Danny wondered, stepping out of the kitchen.

“Name, for one thing. There’s no longer four of us around to be called the Four Innocents.”

“I think we should still be the Four Innocents,” Danny voted. “Timmy’s still with us—still a part of us—in spirit.”

“Yeah, but everyone will keep asking why there’s three of us,” Matt pointed out.

“So?”

“It will sting each time they ask us,” Patrick answered for Matt.

“Yeah, I wasn’t thinking of that,” Danny admitted.

“I guess just the Innocents,” Patrick suggested.

Danny sighed, then held up a voting hand. “The Innocents, I guess.”

“The other question is—² Matt glanced back at Timmy’s drumset. “What do we do about a drummer?”

Danny mounted the bandstand, sat down at the stool, picked up Timmy’s drumsticks, and gave the drums and cymbals a quick beating. He looked up at Matt as if to ask, “Any questions?” What he did say was, “Drums are more basic to a rock’n’roll band than maracas or tambourine. We’ll just give up on that extra percussion. I knew back when I first asked Timmy to show me how to play the drums that there was some mysterious force impelling me. Now I know why.”

“Well, while we’re all still at the bandstand, let’s play,” Matt ordered. “We’ll use all the old arrangements, minus maracas and tambourines. Danny, you’re also going to have to get used to singing while playing the drums.”

Their first gig was a brief run at the Wellingtons’ mountain resort. Patrick was amazed that it was snowing, and they were less than a day away from the sunny beach in back of their house. His feet quickly grew used to the crush of snow beneath his feet, remembering his childhood in Massachusetts. Their playing was mechanical, but sufficient. They had divided up Timmy’s vocals among the three of them, but Danny took over most of the singing. Matt still got choked up singing parts meant for Timmy, but Danny was of “the show must go on” mentality. Danny, usually of a Broadway quality type of singing, sang with a new sense of angst—it wasn’t an imitation of Timmy’s angst-ridden style, Patrick realized. It was genuinely bubbling up from Danny’s soul. Patrick had had no idea his perky friend was capable of feeling such wretched turmoil. But times had changed, true. 

Monica was there the first couple of days; she went walking with Patrick in the afternoon. They had to wear sunglasses because of the glare. Patrick remarked that Monica looked like a superstar. She laughed. Danny half-heartedly tried skiing. All in all, Patrick thought, it was an okay time. But how he would have liked to have played in the snow with Timmy. Matt was oddly still calling the band the Four Innocents, although Patrick could have sworn they had all agreed on dropping the _four_.

Sometimes they clung to each other; sometimes they resented each other’s grief.

One incident started simply enough. Danny was polishing the drum set. Matt was sitting on the edge of the sectional, doing nothing, and Patrick was sitting on the floor, doodling in a sketch book. “You know, Patrick, I envy you…” Matt began.

Patrick glared at him.

“What?”

“What do you envy me for?”

“Being able to keep up a hobby.”

Patrick let the sketch book fall to the floor with an ominous clap. “You don’t envy me—you resent my continuing life with Timmy gone.”

“Patrick, no, I—”

“Don’t _ever_ envy me,” Patrick ordered, pointing a trembling finger at his bandleader. Then he screamed, red and wet-faced. “Don’t ever envy me! Because I’m going through hell! How would you like it if one of your best friends died in your arms? Right in your arms?”

Danny expected Matt to try to soothe his upset bandmate, but now Matt was riled up as well. “Well, at least you got to talk to him; to say goodbye! All I got to do was to say goodbye to a corpse!”

Danny finally intervened, smashing a cymbal and then running over to pop up between the two parties. “Will you two cool it? We’re all on the same side here. We all lost Timmy. We don’t need to try and figure out who lost the most. At the very least, we shouldn’t say things to add to each other’s pain.”

Matt and Patrick glared at each other over Danny’s head, then looked away, both folding their arms.

“All right I shouldn’t have said what I said,” Matt mumbled, looking up at the entrance’s doorframe.

“I overreacted,” Patrick admitted, looking at the deactivated television set. “As usual.”

Without even looking at each other, they extended a hand to each other, and shook, with Danny standing behind their clasped fingers. He didn’t think that a good enough apology, but he guessed it would have to do for now.

Later on, they were watching TV. Matt was sitting on the triangular seat, Danny was reclined on the psychiatrist couch, and Patrick was again on the floor, by Matt’s feet. Danny saw Patrick take hold of one of his bandleader’s legs, and lean his head against it. Matt placed a hand on Patrick’s head and tousled his hair.

Danny smiled.

It was the first time the Innocents had been to Baird’s since before Timmy’s death. No particular reason to go, they just needed to get out, to do something, to go through the motions of living.

“What always draws us here at the same time as the Fig Leaves, I’ll never know,” Matt muttered to Danny as they walked in the door.

“Do you suppose they know about Timmy?” Danny asked in a low voice.

“Of course they heard about what happened to Timmy,” Matt replied. “If that Rosita girl heard, they heard.”

Oliver appeared solemn. Beanie was smirking, as usual. Patrick was looking curiously at him and nearly stumbled over a guitar case near the door. “Hey, watch it!” Beanie cried. “That’s my Betty!”

Then there was silence. The three Innocents browsed aimlessly. The Fig Leaves remained huddled in a corner, then Beanie and Bill decided to track Danny, while Oliver and Zack went to the local records section.

“So, little man, how are you today?” Beanie asked with a sneer.

“Beanie!” both Oliver and Clio, behind the counter, warned.

Danny decided to take the question seriously. “I’m doing all right, considering. So how’s by you?”

“Just peachy. I wouldn’t be too sad anyway.”

Danny took the bait. “Why is that?”

“Your drummer pulled off quite the publicity stunt. Now everyone’s sure to have heard of you.”

Danny angrily glanced back at his bandleader, who shook his head in discouragement. 

“Everyone’s feelin’ sorry for ya,” Beanie continued with insensitivity. “So they’ll listen to your records without turning the station so fast—if your songs air, that is.”

Danny glared at Beanie and Bill and stalked away.

Beanie chuckled to himself, then whirled around. Patrick had taken Betty out of her case and now held her over his head. Before Beanie could react any further, Patrick had smashed the guitar down full force into the floor. It cracked at the neck. “Betty!” Beanie cried with a whimper.

“Now you know what it feels like to lose someone you love,” Patrick said coolly and without remorse. Matt and Danny stood mouths agape at Patrick’s uncharacteristic violence.

“He trashed Betty!” Beanie insisted, pointing his finger. He hurriedly turned to Clio. “You saw him! He destroyed my property!”

“C’mon, Beanie, let it slide,” Oliver suggested. One of the Innocents had finally communicated in a language he and the other two Fig Leaves understood. Bill and Zack grabbed Beanie’s arms to hold him back, to drag him away. “It’s called getting even,” Oliver continued calmly, walking towards Matt.

“I’ll get even, alright!”

“No. They got even with us—for that time we locked them up so they couldn’t participate in that contest. Or that time we left them stranded in the desert.” He made eye contact with Matt. “Look, just pay us for a new guitar and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

Matt didn’t argue. They agreed on a price and the Innocents’ bandleader handed him a check.

Beanie was still fuming when his bandmates carried him away.

Patrick sat on the floor of the van on the way home. Matt made no attempt at dialogue. Danny glanced back now and then. Patrick’s eyes were fierce and angry, and his body trembled like he was a self-contained earthquake. A flying splinter from the guitar had cut his cheek. “We’ll clean that cut out when we get home,” Danny said simply. Patrick didn’t even nod or attempt to nurse the wound. Danny continued to look back every other minute. Gradually softness returned to his friend’s face and Danny thought he recognized just a twinge of guilt.

IV

"I was told by a few...acquaintances...that you might have something against Patrick Keefe," Genie said to the stranger. She was now a thick haired brunette, and she called herself Susan Baker.

"I suppose I could." The young man who was new to her would be known by the Innocents as Heath Fletcher. He was obviously nervous, glancing warily about the dim surroundings of the underground nightclub, even as the two of them sipped their drinks, trying to be nonchalant. 

"Jealousy?" Genie prodded.

Heath nodded. "I was in love with--Well, I guess I still am...Anyway, I was trying to win Monica, but she became infatuated with him. But I was being obsessive at the time. I've been trying for the last few months to overcome problems like these. My father, you see, left--"

Genie interrupted, appearing to have ignored the last part of his answer. "What I am trying to say, would you have enough against Keefe to want to kill him?"

He gave a start. "No! Of course not! What are you, trying to re-mess up my mind or something?"

"How about for personal reasons _and_ for money? Would you kill him then?"

"No!" He started to rise.

Genie put a restraining hand on his arm. "Ten thousand dollars," she said simply.

He pulled away from her grasp. "Don't ever speak to me again."

She did not try to stop him, but remained seated, slowly sipping her drink. She did not want to kill Patrick after what Timmy had done for him, but maliciously, Nuke had insisted, after hearing of the Innocent’s sacrifice. Genie agreed to do the job for the right price, but she determined that Patrick should feel no pain. She could do that much in respect for Timmy. That's why Heath would have been perfect; for half her money he could do the actual killing. He was a sharpshooter and could get his aim so exact that Patrick would be dead before he even knew what hit him.

In the first few months following Timmy's death, the three Innocents played little in the way of gigs. Unoccupied by rehearsal, Patrick had more time to paint, and his realization that he was worth something to the world spurred him on.

Patrick's painting paid off in another way. After a party at Hals' estate, Monica was inspired to open an art gallery. Having seen Patrick's work at Hals' Hall, and also being his good friend, he was the first artist she called upon.

The day before the gallery opening, Monica had Patrick come over to go over some last minute details. She held open the door as he carried a large painting in. After he put it down, they stood facing each other. “Oh, look at you, look at you,” Monica greeted cooingly, pinching his cheek like a grandmother. She gazed searchingly into his eyes. “You’ve changed somehow.”

“I have?” he asked quietly.

“Yes..you..your eyes. They’re not as wide.” _They have a wild and hunted look to them._

“I grew up,” he stated bluntly.

“They’ve robbed you, Patrick,” she declared solemnly. “They’ve taken away your innocence.” Suddenly, she sobbed.

Instinctively, Patrick threw his arms around her, and let her tears soak his shoulder. “Now, now, Monica. I’m still me. I’m still Patrick Keefe. I may not be so naïve, but I still live by the rules of innocence.”

“Yes, I suppose,” she agreed as she regained her composure. “It’s not like you’ve become a devil or something. You’re still an angel.”

Patrick turned, fingering one of his paintings that hung on the wall. Then, he suddenly said, “I don’t cry anymore.”

“Cry for what happened recently or cry about anything?” Monica asked, folding her arms around herself to ward off the chill she felt in her soul.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll cry again for other reasons. My friends used to say I cried a lot. But then, when I finished, I’d be happy again. But with Timmy, I’ve cried all the tears that are in me. And I still feel sad.”

“Is that how you feel today?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I just feel numb.”

Patrick and his two bandmates were there on August twenty-third, the date of "Monica's" grand opening. Amongst Monica's other acquaintances was Heath, who sidled up to Patrick during the festivities. He did not look directly at Patrick as he talked. "Look, I know we haven't had the most pleasant encounters in the past..."

"I'm forgiving," Patrick said.

"That's all fine, but what I have to tell you now isn't going to be very pleasant either. But I'm telling you as a friend, not a rival."

"Oh?"

"Pay close attention and be very careful. Someone--I don't know if she's here today, or where she'll turn up--but I happen to have found out that this someone, she called herself Susan Baker, is planning to have you killed."

"I don't know anyone--" Patrick blurted.

"Ssshhh! She could have been using an alias for all I know. She somehow found out about our little rivalry in the past, and offered me money to do the job. I know I've been no angel in the past, but I'll never stoop that low."

"Good."

Heath nodded curtly at him and moved on.

A moment later, a nauseous dread came over Patrick as the full meaning of what Heath had just told him sunk in. Should he warn Matt and Danny now?

He was just about to make his way through the crowd when a blond ingenue approached him. "Oh, you know, I just think you're artwork's so cute and groovy!" She giggled.

Patrick blushed. "Thanks."

"I'm trying like to be an artist, too, but I'm really terrible at it, at least my parents say so, but I'm trying, you know..." She paused to catch her breath. "Anyway, would you like to see some of my work?"

Patrick shrugged. "Sure."

"I left it outside cause I didn't want to drag it in here, not that anyone would mistake it for one of the gallery pieces!" She giggled again. She gasped in excitement. "Oh! And I have a painting of yours I bought from that art fair when they sold your stuff really cheap."

Patrick nodded. He remembered selling a few pictures that day, but he could not remember each buyer individually.

"Anyway, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind autographing it?" She slapped her head. "What am I saying? You already signed your name on that. Well, you will come see my painting anyway? Please?"

"Okay."

She led him out a door, into the unfurnished shop area next door. "Why are we here?" Patrick wondered. She grasped his wrist tightly. Patrick felt something pierce his skin. He guessed it was one of her nails but it felt just like a needle. "Ow!" he exclaimed, yanking his arm away.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

"But what did you want to show me?" he wondered.

"Oh, the artwork, well..." It seemed like she was stalling for time. "It was here a minute ago, um..."

Patrick squinted in confusion, wondering what she was trying to get at. Then he squinted again, for his vision became unclear. The next thing he knew, he was falling. He lost all consciousness the moment he hit the floor.

The girl knelt by him, and lost her teenybopper accent as she said coolly, "There now, honey, we won't feel the pain." The bubbly youngster had just been one of Genie's many disguises. She pulled off his shirt, then gently yet forcefully, she kissed his lips.

She ran her fingertip along his mouth. “I wonder if any girl before me has stolen a kiss from these lips. Or—have you ever willingly given a kiss?”

His chest had a light layer of fuzzy hair. Genie ran a hand through it, reveling in the warmth of his skin. _And I know no woman has ever done this. Oh, you are indeed a work of art._ She stopped herself. She was prepared to kill him, but not to rape him. In a more professional manner, she felt for his pulse, trying to pinpoint the exact location of his heart.

He lay before her like a sacrifice on an ancient altar. With cold precision, she drove her bejewelled dagger into his heart.

The man with the newspaper unlocked his car door for Genie. "Good work, Miss. My son Nuke will be proud." He fired up the car, and drove quickly away, but not so quickly as to cause a scene. "But tell me, why didn't you just inject him with poison instead of a knock-out drug?"

Genie fingered the shaft of the dagger. "I was glad when I could get no one else to do the job. Not at first, but then I realized, all Four Innocents should get the honor of dying by this weapon."

"What's so special about it?"

"I'll tell you some other time."

V

Monica's party continued, with Matt and Danny wondering why they felt a familiar disturbance within them. They grabbed Monica and proceeded to search for their friend. They found Patrick in the unoccupied space next to Monica’s Gallery. He was lying on the floor, his arms spread out to give him a crucifix-like pose. Everything was meticulous. The opening over his heart was so surgically precise that blood ran from it in a few neat trails, unlike the torrent of life fluid that had poured out of Timmy. Patrick’s chest may have been bare, but he still had his locket around his neck, the one that had partially been a gift from Monica. His countenance was quite peaceful—-angelic even, as always.

Monica had been the first to cry, although Matt and Danny tried to keep her out of the room—-the sight that lay before her was a sight no gentle lady such as she was should see. Patrick’s two surviving bandmates would cry, sob profusely, in fact, but for the moment they were too numb that this had happened again, so soon.

A sudden chill entered the room. Monica noticed; she stopped crying for a second and looked up. Then, to offset the drop in temperature, Matt and Danny felt a warm and familiar presence they had not felt for six months. They glanced knowingly at each other.

Shortly thereafter, the temperature returned to normal. Patrick’s body, if that were possible, took on more of an aura of death—-it became a little grayer, a little stiffer. The body’s face now resembled how Patrick had looked in life less. “Timmy came for Patrick,” Matt said somberly.

“He took his soul away,” Danny added.

Monica tried to regain her composure. She had been kneeling over the corpse, her tears showering upon it. “You know then..that you will meet again.”

Patrick consciousness returned, and he became aware of a tender sensation, and an oddly familiar one as well. He was being held in Timmy's arms. "Timmy? Timmy?"

"Yes, it's me, angel," the late Innocent replied softly,

stroking Patrick's face.

"What are you doing here, Timmy?" Patrick asked in confusion.

"You died awhile ago. You died right in my arms just like you're holding me now."

"Yeah, I left my original body, that's true," Timmy told him. "I've got news for you, ol' pal. So have you."

Patrick sat up in surprise. "I'm dead?"

Timmy was unperturbed. "In a manner of speaking."

"I don't feel very dead."

"Exactly. No one can kill a soul."

"What happened?" Patrick asked, noticing that he was dressed in a Four Innocents' band uniform, as was Timmy, and that they were in a room very much like the main room of their old beachhouse. "I was at Monica's, next thing I know I woke up here."

"Genie again. In disguise, as usual."

"That's too bad. That makes your sacrifice in vain."

"In vain? Hardly. Look at all you accomplished in these past few months." He thought back. "It was incredible when I died, because I never felt more alive. It was like I awoke from a refreshing sleep, and there was peacefulness without a trace of a guilt trip. And it was an honor to be able to go the way I did."

"I never thought I'd see you again, Timmy‑‑Well, I did, but‑‑" 

"On earth, it's hard to imagine the reality of the spiritual world." 

Patrick hugged him. "Oh, Timmy, I'm so glad to be with you again, cause I really missed you."

"I know. I could see you from here, so I didn't have to miss

you."

"You said you could see me all this time? Does that mean we can see Matt and Danny?"

"Yeah, sure. They'll need to have you there, even if they don't realize you're with them."

A cocker spaniel puppy ran up to them. “Hey, this puppy reminds me of my Muffin.”

“It is your Muffin,” Timmy informed him. “She showed up on my doorstep shortly before you died.”

“Why is she still a little puppy?”

“Because she wants to be. Oh, and your grandparents also dropped by. You want to go see them?”

“Sure,” Patrick agreed, holding the dog in his hands. Stepping outside, he looked around at the brightness and the glory of his surroundings. His eyes went wide again.


	4. Half a Success

CHAPTER FOUR: HALF A SUCCESS

I

Among those who attended the memorial service were Yolanda Ballard and her husband Stan Grayson, and TV producer Louis Madison and his wife Cecilia. Mr. Madison had taken a shine to Patrick when the Four Innocents had been cast in a failed TV pilot.

“Well, that’s two down,” Francene remarked in a slurred voice. “I know this isn’t what Patrick would want, but after this service is over, I’m going to go get so drunk.” Her demeanor betrayed that she was already tipsy.

“I’m coming with you,” Amity said, although she had never been a heavy drinker.

Monica was one of the next to approach Matt and Danny, hugging the latter. “I don’t think I actually told him in so many words, but I was in love with Patrick. I kept quiet because I thought it would trouble him, being celibate. But now I think, maybe you should let people know—just for the sake of knowing someone out there likes you. Do you think Patrick knew?”

“He knew you had some interest in him,” Danny answered honestly.

Monica nodded and turned to Matt, who did not meet her gaze. “Are you all right?” Matt shook his head sadly. “Of course you’re not all right, how foolish of me.” 

She turned to go, but he grabbed her hand. “Thanks for helping with the cremation costs,” he mumbled.

“It is the least we can do,” she replied, “ _we”_ referring to her family. “Least I could do, I should say.” That Patrick died at her gallery opening weighed heavily on her heart.

Matt at last made eye contact with her. “You were a good friend to Patrick.” He glanced away. “I will remember that.”

Monica took a step or two from the boys’ presence. “Wait!” Danny called. The heiress stared at him anxiously. “Pat-Patrick loved you, too. He didn’t tell you—you can guess why. He would never pursue—” Her face had gone pale. Danny went to explain further, but felt sullen vibes from Matt, so he desisted.

She nodded. “I understand.”

Patrick’s mother was the next to speak to the boys. She was grieved, yet comforted the two remaning boys with her belief that God would work all things for good, and that Patrick, as well as Timmy, now resided in a wonderful kingdom. She was the image of practiced calm, with tears still falling—yet resigned was she to Patrick’s fate. “I don’t know if I ever told you,” she continued. “But Patrick was a rape child.”

“Yes, we knew,” Danny said in almost a whisper.

“This may sound cruel, but I resented him for several years. But he was so pure and good I finally was able to see beyond his origins. Now I am grateful for the years we had together. But this chapter of my life is closed. I’ve been offered a post on a poor South American mission, which I was hesitant on taking—it meant being so far from my son. But, now—well I guess I was meant to go and minister to those needy children.”

“I only wish the road was as clear for us,” Danny uttered. Matt had been silent all this while, staring sullenly at the floor.

Back at home, Matt sat at the kitchen table. Danny tried to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but bad vibrations were like a force field around his friend. “Matt—” Danny began cautiously.

“Leave me alone,” Matt mumbled.

“But you said—You said the only way to get through these things is together.”

Matt was silent a moment. “I know. I won’t shut you out forever, I just need a little while to mope by myself.”

Danny nodded, although he was still standing behind Matt. He turned away.

“Miss Keefe seemed rather casual about it,” Matt remarked suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“Almost relieved that she no longer has a son to worry about.”

“Jasmine loves Patrick!” Danny insisted. “Believe me; I know her. She’s overcome obstacles we, as males, can’t imagine—being raped and impregnated and all that. She’s just been doing a lot of thinking things over. What she’s going to do with the rest of her life. Things we gotta start worrying about.” 

Matt violently shoved the telephone on the table onto the floor. It rang out as it hit. Danny scurried halfway up the spiral staircase. “I don’t want to worry about what to do the rest of my life. I don’t want a ‘rest of my life’!”

Danny took a step backwards on the staircase. “Why was Patrick taken so soon after Timmy?” Matt demanded, standing, his hands up in the air in exasperation. Danny didn’t answer, he felt Matt was talking more at God or at the world than to him. “I know, I know, ‘all things work together for good’.”

The young Englishman took another step backwards and upwards. He didn’t care for the sarcastic way his bandleader had quoted Scripture.

“How? How is it good?” Matt continued. “How can things possibly be better with them not around? The world has lost two wonderful and amazing people—how is that for good? Oh, I know—Patrick must die so his mother can go scatter food to some big-eyed little brats who always want more. Well, I hope they’re happy that they’re feeding off his blood.” Matt sat back down and sighed, then was quiet. 

Danny inched back down the stairs. He wanted to be able to comfort and be comforted by his friend, not be frightened of him. Matt sighed again, in a most annoying manner, and nearly put a crack in the table with his fist. Danny did not move further down—for now, he remained still, clutching the staircase rails.

Danny sat by the ocean, the tide coming up to his feet. The night air was chilly despite the time of year. He thought back to the last time the four of them had stood out here. Timmy had remarked upon how cold it was.

He felt Matt’s presence behind him, but did not say a word. Yet he could tell his demeanor had changed.

Matt knelt down behind Danny, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Look, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t..There’s no..No need to apologize,” Danny replied haltingly.

“I was just thinking of my own grief. I was forgetting about yours. I dunno. It just makes me crazy..thinking about Timmy and Patrick. I loved them—and I know you did, too.”

“Our love is not past tense,” Danny pointed out gently, as Matt came to sit beside him.

Matt nodded. “Together again someday. Like Monica said.”

Danny twisted himself around his bandleader’s arm. “I need you to be there for me. I felt a distance between us tonight.”

“I know. I scared you off with all my yelling and throwing stuff around. I’m sorry.”

“’Sall right.”

They sat in companionable silence, gazing at the stars.

Monica had called Danny over to the Wellington estate, wanting to talk more with him about his revelation concerning Patrick. They sat on a wooden fence at the corral, watching sleek horses in a pasture.

“You said Patrick loved me.”

“Yes.”

“Forgive my asking, but to what extent?”

“We didn’t really feel threatened by it,” Danny confessed. “He wasn’t about to abandon his celibate lifestyle.”

“Yet, to a certain extent, he loved me. And you knew it.”

“It’s like this. We’re like troubadors. They used to all have their ‘courtly love’, a girl they’d praise in song, like a princess, but yet they weren’t in an actual serious relationship with this girl. With us, we didn’t always write songs about the girls—although sometimes we did—but they held a special place in our lives, even if they never could be our lovers. With me, it was all girls. With Timmy, Rosita—although Beatrix would like to think it’s her. Matt—his cousin Billie, I guess. Patrick, it was you, from early on.”

“Thank you,” Monica said. “It means a lot to me just to know. I always knew I could never have him, but to know he cared for me in more than a casual way will remain precious to me.”

Timmy and Patrick, along with Muffin, were in a room in their trans-dimensional mansion. It looked oddly like an outdoor meadow.

“Timmy?”

“Yeah?”

“Just before you died, you were gonna say something.”

“I said lots of things. I was blessed to have been able to tell you so much.”

“No, besides all that. You said ‘I—’ and then your body jerked and you were dead.”

“Yeah, some angels came for me. I didn’t feel any of the death throes. I brushed up against yours and Matt’s and Danny’s consciousness as I was led away.”

“So _that’s_ how they knew.”

“They would’ve known anyway. They had a similar feeling when you died.”

“But Timmy—what were you gonna say?”

“Um, I forget.”

“You forget?”

Timmy shrugged. “I dunno. Probably just trying to make conversation.”

“Timmy, you were bleeding all over the place. Don’t tell me you were just trying to make conversation!”

Timmy scrunched up his face in thought. “Wait a second. It’s coming back to me. I was just going to remark I wouldn’t get to see what the seventies would be like.”

Patrick looked incredulous. “You really _were_ making small talk. Those could have been your last words!”

Timmy smiled sheepishly. 

Patrick playfully shoved his shoulder. Timmy laughed and ran way, Patrick giving chase, with Muffin attempting to get in licks on both of them. The two Innocents tumbled over each other, then Timmy rubbed his knuckles against the top of Patrick’s head.

“Timmy, I’m so happy! Just to be with you, but all this, too!” He gazed around.

“And it will always be like this, Patrick,” Timmy assured him. “Forever and ever.”

“I had a dream about Patrick last night,” Danny told Matt.

“Lucky you. I dreamed about being stuck in high school.”

“We were in Heaven, you see. And Patrick, his hair was like literally gold, and there was a radiance all about him. And he still had the uncanny ability to instantly understand any instrument. Only more instantly so. Like he was predisposed with the knowledge. He was playing instruments I didn’t even recognize—instruments from ancient times, different cultures, you know. It was amazing.” Danny’s eyes took on a glow. “Then he put his hand on my shoulder. I felt a surge of power go through me. He handed me a lute. I played it like an expert. Then a flute, a harp, a mandolin, a violin. I played them all.”

“Funny how people live on in your dreams,” Matt remarked.

“I think maybe they _do_ visit you in your dreams,” Danny said. “Tell ya what, mate, if I go before you, if it’s up to me, I’ll be sure and visit you in your dreams.”

“Oh, don’t talk that way, Danny.”

“Well--”

“You want me to promise that, too,” Matt said knowingly.

“Yeah.”

“Sure.” Matt nodded in a manner to inspire confidence. “I’ll do that.”

“Patrick and Timmy have appeared in your dreams, haven’t they?”

Matt thought back—most dreams were fuzzy, forgotten on the most part upon waking. There was one he recalled; it was from before Patrick had died..Matt and Timmy were standing between deep woods and a barren field. It was night. Matt specifically asked Timmy what it was like to die. “It’s hard up to the point where you shoot through, then everything’s a breeze. That is, if your salvation’s guaranteed, like yours is.” That had to be the type of dream Danny was talking about.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve had them,” Matt answered Danny. “I don’t always remember dreams too well, but I’ll try to pay more attention from now on.”

Was there something more?

Timmy heading into the impenetrable forest. _Come with me, Matt, come with me_ _¼_

_No, Timmy, I have to stay. I have to watch out for Danny and Patrick_ _¼_ _What if Danny were to die after me, and Patrick was left all alone? He couldn’t survive; you know that. I’m sorry, Timmy, I have to stay._

It was a misty day at St. Francis Park, with light rain now and then. Danny walked through the garden, past the gazebo, down by the water. It still seemed so different without Timmy. On the sidewalk, he glanced at the Concordia Music Store. What he wouldn’t give to see Patrick walk out of it now.

He sat down on a park bench and sighed, leaning over to rest his elbows on his knees. His thoughts were dark.

A hand on his shoulder startled him. He looked around to see a pretty young woman. She was dressed in cutoffs and a flowery Mexican blouse. She smiled. Danny attempted to smile back.

“I guess you don’t remember me,” she said. “But I remember you. Once when I was having a bad day, you announced you were Ammon the Great and magically made flowers appear on my lap. I can’t figure out how you did it, but it cheered me up.”

“Oh, that was Timmy,” Danny explained. “My ‘Partner in Crime’. While I distracted you, he placed the flowers on your lap.” He looked down at the concrete and grass. “I’ve lost Timmy, and another of my best friends besides.”

She sat down next to him. “I am sorry. You are having a worse day than I was then. I was just having boyfriend problems. By the way, my name is Rose. I know your name’s not Ammon¼”

“Danny.”

“Danny. You know, you suddenly look familiar from somewhere else.”

“The fellas and I were the backing band for Mary and Larry.”

“Oh.”

“You didn’t hear about the murders?”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t remember. I tend to avoid the news when I can. All that footage of dead soldiers¼” She shuddered.

They were silent a moment.

She touched his hand. “Let’s go for a walk. Maybe that’ll help.”

Danny shrugged. “Okay.”

They ended up at the playground, sitting on swings. Danny got impatient with this, and lay on his stomach, letting his hands and feet drag along the ground as the swing moved back and forth.

“Do you want to talk about them?” Rose asked gently.

“Yeah.” Danny got up, and sat back down on the swing. “Patrick was a..treasure, that’s to be certain.”

“How’s that?”

“He was like a child, yet, yet he could be mother or father to you, so great was his knowledge of friendship. Him and I were the first two of the four to meet. Then we picked up Timmy, and later Matt. Now Matt’s all I have left.” He stared into the distance. “But when I think of Timmy and Patrick now, I feel..not only loss and grief, but joy and wonder that they ever graced my life.

“I told you Timmy was my Partner in Crime,” he said, after a period of quietly swinging. “We used to come here—to this park—all the time and play pranks, like we played on you.”

“You couldn’t have been very mean-spirited pranksters, being as the joke you pulled on me was to give me flowers.”

“Most of the time we were pretty easy going,” Danny admitted. “Every once in a while we’d run into a fella that deserved getting a more mischievous prank pulled on him.” His voice kept changing volume as he swung further away, and came back again. “That was back in the days when I still had a _joie de vivre_.”

“What?”

“It’s French—“

“Oh, I know that. I took French in high school. Your statement just startled me, that’s all. Go on.”

“Once on tour, the fellas and I were discussing suicide. It seemed it had crossed their minds before. But never mine. I just couldn’t grasp the concept. But lately—well, sometimes I feel I’d do anything to see Timmy and Patrick again, even if it means jumping the gun to get to the afterlife.”

“Oh, you mustn’t do that!”

“I know. I know Matthew needs me here. And what if I were punished for committing suicide? What if my soul wasn’t allowed to reunite with Patrick and Timmy?”

“I wouldn’t want to take that chance.” Rose changed the subject. “Did they catch the murderer?”

“No. We don’t know that the same person killed both my mates. But Matt—our bandleader—he suspects the woman who killed Timmy also killed Patrick. Genie—she’s a master of disguise. We never know where she’ll show up.” He got off the swing as a thought hit him. “Why, she could even be—” He stopped, glancing timidly at Rose.

Rose also stood up, patting down her sides as though frisking herself. “Danny, I’m unarmed.”

“You’re not her you’re not her,” Danny said hurriedly. He stared defiantly into the sky. “I am _not_ going to let this make me paranoid.” He turned to Rose. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s understandable, given the circumstances.” She studied a couple passing by. “What trick would you play on them?”

“I would—“ Danny shook his head and looked down. “I dunno. I can’t think.”

“Maybe not them. How ‘bout we find someone sitting all alone and give them flowers?”

“Sounds familiar.”

“You want to?”

Danny shrugged. He followed Rose as once more she began to walk around the park.

They passed near the ice cream stand. A little boy dropped his scoopful of chocolate ice cream on the sidewalk. He burst into tears. That reminded Danny of a past incident. He whispered in Rose’s ear. 

A few minutes later, the boy and his mother were accosted by Rose. “Excuse me, we saw your son dropped his ice cream before he had a chance to enjoy it, so we’d like to replace it at no charge.”

“I don’t remember seeing you behind the stand,” the mother remarked warily, as the boy happily took the frozen treat.

Rose just blushed and excused herself. She ran back to Danny, by the garden. “That’s the first prank Timmy and I pulled,” he explained.

“That’s a prank?”

“Yeah, pretending I worked for the ice cream stand. That’s a trick.”

“Yeah, but you gotta admit, you weren’t so much Partners in Crime as you were the Guardian Angels of the Park.”

Danny shrugged. He picked a flower and placed it behind Rose’s ear. She giggled. “Thanks.” She took hold of his hand. “You know, Danny, I think you still have some _joie de vivre_ left.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Will I see you again?”

“Maybe. I still might come here often. But I must warn—”

“It’s okay, Danny. This is the sixties. Just because we spent a day at the park together doesn’t mean we’re obligated to go steady or anything.”

Danny smiled and shook a finger at her. “You still better behave yourself. The seventies are coming up very fast, and the rules may change again.”

She ran a hand through her blonde hair. “The seventies, right. I almost forgot.”

“But thank you for keeping me company today.”

She grinned, an expression that was full of sunshine. “Sure. No problem.”

He reached up to kiss her, and she was ready for it. They kissed once—for a gesture of farewell, for fun, it didn’t matter, it was only once. Then Danny smiled and turned away.

Danny planted his feet firmly on the shore and stared resolutely out to sea. “Timmy¼Patrick¼I will hold on to your memory—grasp at your souls which I know are still around me—but I’ve got perhaps many a year ahead of me and I’m gonna _live_. I’m not gonna drag myself through the days. I’m not gonna let the world win. I will live my life to the fullest.”

Matt came up behind him. “Danny, who you talkin’ to?”

“The world. The whole flippin’ world.”

Matt put an arm around his shoulder. “The world never listens to me. I’m afraid it won’t listen to you.”

Danny took a piece of driftwood and tossed it in the ocean. He watched to see it splash down. “Here, Matt, see if you can beat me,” he said, handing more driftwood to Matt.

Matt lightly bonked Danny’s head with it, then threw it. It landed short of Danny’s mark.

“I won! Ha! The little guy won!” Danny gloated. Playfully, he rammed his head into Matt’s abdomen.

“Danny—“

The English boy bunted his bandleader again.

“Danny!”

“What?”

“I, uh, still miss Timmy and Patrick, okay?”

Danny knew then that Matt had not heard all of his speech to the ocean. “I miss them, too! What makes you think I don’t?”

Matt sat down on the wet sand. “I’m not saying—”

“Matt, we’ve been dealt two harsh blows, one right after another. But don’t let life defeat you. Don’t let the dark forces win.”

Matt smiled; Danny did not know why, but it was encouraging. “Timmy and Patrick wouldn’t want us to be miserable for the rest of our lives,” Danny continued. “They’d still want us to play and to hold fast to the positive ideals we believed in.”

Matt nodded thoughtfully. “I just need a little time, that’s all.”

Danny and his bandleader waited a couple of weeks before having the serious discussion about what to do with the rest of their lives. Matt and Danny sat silently on the sectional, listening to the radio. At least, Matt thought, there was no longer any pressure to continue as the Four Innocents' band. "Do you still want to be into music?" Matt asked.

"Is there any question about that?" Danny returned. "I can't imagine you into anything else. And the only other thing I've done to any significant level is worked as a stable boy."

"What exactly should we do, though?" Matt wondered.

"Don't forget, I play guitar, too," Danny mentioned. "We don't have to be hard core rock'n'rollers."

"A singer/songwriter duo," Matt realized. 

"Selwynward--you remember, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah. We were going to write songs together and credit them to Selwynward."

“Deal?”

“Deal,” Matt replied. “And another thing¼”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to be ‘bandleader’ no more. Let’s just be partners. You got more sense than me anyhow.”

Danny nodded. “Deal.” They shook on it.

“Goodness knows I ain’t got no band to lead anyway,” Matt muttered, albeit not bitterly this time.

Suddenly, Danny grabbed his friend’s upper arm. "Matt, I'm scared! This is two in a year! I don't wanna lose you, too." He clutched his friend tightly. "Don't leave me, Matt, don't leave me!"

"Shhh, shhh. I won't leave you. I don't want you leaving me, either."

"One of us is going to end up going before the other, and I don't know which is right to hope for."

They then sat up, realizing the radio was playing the single from the Four Innocents' album. Timmy sang lead on "New World". "Oh, now they play it!" Matt exclaimed. "Now that they're both dead."

“What are we going to do about Christmas?” Danny wondered anxiously at the breakfast table. “Both of them are gone. That zaps all the joy out of the season right there.”

Matt came up behind him, placing his head near Danny’s. “You once told me something one Christmas when we had little money. You said a simple Christmas can be wonderful.”

“That’s all well and good, but I-I don’t feel like celebrating.”

“Think about it. A simple Christmas. Not worrying about putting on a show or putting tinsel on a tree. A simple Christmas may be time to simply reflect on Christ’s birth. After all, because of Him, we will see Patrick and Timmy again one day.”

“Yeah. I guess I’m just not feeling very grateful right now.” Suddenly, he looked up, his eyes brightened. “I’ve got it! I’ve got an idea how we can celebrate!”

That afternoon found them at the toy shop. “Look at these pretty ethnic dolls!” Danny exclaimed, gazing at shelves stocked with “World Girl” products. “Timmy would love these.” He picked up one labeled “World Girl Mexico”. “Especially this one. It would remind him of Rosita. Matt, you come up with anything?”

Matt appeared from the next aisle over, cradling a stuffed puppy. “This is what Patrick would want.”

“No doubt about it. Well, let’s pay for this stuff.”

Christmas Eve found Matt and Danny at the Petersens’ door. The Petersens were members of St. Paul’s who had fallen on hard times ever since Mr. Petersen had been laid off. He and his wife answered the door.

“Hello,” Danny said, handing Mrs. Petersen a brightly wrapped package. “This is for Brenda.”

“And this is for Simon,” Matt added, handing a box to Mr. Petersen.

“We really appreciate this,” Mr. Petersen thanked them. “I wouldn’t ask anyone to do this just for me, but the kids—Well, they deserve a Christmas.”

“It’s so nice that your growing success hasn’t made you forget the people you knew before,” Mrs. Petersen remarked.

“Are the kids asleep?” Danny wondered.

The parents nodded.

“Then you can tell them Santa Claus didn’t forget them after all.”

Matt spoke. “And one more thing we don’t want to forget, although you don’t need to tell the kids—just tell them Santa came. But we’re doing this to honor the memory of our friends.”

“I will remember Timmy and Patrick,” Mrs. Petersen promised.

They conversed a little more, then the Petersens closed the door, and Matt and Danny got into the van. “I would like to see the kids’ faces when they open their presents,” Danny remarked wistfully.

“We’ll just have to ask the Petersens for a report.” Matt started the vehicle and they left for home, but ended up driving up and down streets, looking at holiday lights instead.

The songwriting team of Selwynward soared to success in no time, it seemed, compared to the time it had taken before the Four Innocents even released an album. They composed hits for artists such as Mary and Larry, Yolanda Ballard, and even a single for themselves. When Selwynward performed, they did it folk style, bringing a couple of acoustic guitars and stools to sit on. They were featured on quite a few variety and talk shows, and were semi-regulars on Mary and Larry's new television series. 

Life was good again, although it sometimes ebbed into bittersweetness. Often as they made their appearances and heard the applause from the audience, they wished the crowd was cheering for the Four Innocents instead. Yet some of the pain was gone—Matt forgave Patrick’s mother for what he had perceived as her indifference, and now gave a portion of every paycheck to her mission that helped needy children.

They saw ports of call around the world. In exotic places Timmy would have loved, Danny had to stop himself from buying all manner of handicrafts, just because he thought Timmy would like them. Matt would sight foreign instruments, and guess out loud how many minutes it would take for Patrick to learn how to play them.

They made an odd pair, the public thought, seeing the tall Southwesterner and the small Englishman side-by-side. No one could deny their closeness, however, for everyday they revelled in each other's company like old friends who rarely got the chance to be together. "At least we still have each other," they often said, which to them explained why their relationship always seemed new. Most people did not understand what they meant by that statement. 

Just being two now had other consequences—there had always been gossip about the Four Innocents being gay, now that is was just down to Matt and Danny, some people accepted the gossip as fact. Some days it bothered them; other days they laughed at it.

Some of the songs they wrote seemed to be about romance, but those who knew them well knew many were really about friendship, such as the mournful “Why Did You Leave?”

I wake up in the morning and gaze across the room

You're not there and my heart fills with gloom

Why did you leave? Tell me, why did you leave?

The days used to be so bright with you by my side

Then darkness set in and happiness died

Why did you leave? Tell me, why did you leave?

I may have lost you, but I'll find you again

Nothing can separate one from a friend

And when nighttime falls I just collapse with a sigh

I can't forget you and I don't want to try

Why did you leave? Tell me, why did you leave?

Their first LP was simply titled _Selwynward_ , and featured a tame photo of them sitting on stools, playing guitars.

For the cover of the second album, “The Past Is the Future”, Mary had an idea. Matt and Danny had no idea why they listened to her, but she could wrap any guy around her finger, what with her pleading voice and puppy dog eyes.

Danny and Matt were to lay down, in opposite directions, heads touching. The catch was, they were dressed in nothing but loincloths. “It’s primitive—the past—get it?” Mary explained.

Of course, the loincloths were specially designed so that there was no danger of Mary, well, seeing their parts, but Matt still felt embarrassed. Danny took it all in stride. It was good the little Englishman had such a strong sense of celibacy, Matt reflected. It kept him from getting in trouble from his lack of modesty.

“Why did you call the album ‘The Past Is the Future’?” Mary asked Matt and Danny after they had changed into shirts and pants.

“The past—us—Timmy—Patrick, the Four Innocents,” Danny explained. “It will be again.”

Mary looked blank.

“In heaven!” Danny prompted.

“Oh! Oh, right!” she cried. “You make me feel silly now for dressing you like cavemen.”

“You should feel silly,” Matt chided, but not without warmth.

II

Standing in the spare room doorway, Matt watched Danny play guitar, without Danny seeming to know it. Seemed like that was all he ever did with his spare time these days. Play guitar. Even after working all day or night at playing guitar for the studio or for a gig. True, he went on dates, occasionally. But not as often as he used to do. Matt wondered if Danny thought he was keeping Patrick alive by playing. Patrick had taught him everything he knew. Or did Danny even believe Patrick was guiding his playing now, like in that dream he had told Matt about?

Funny, Matt thought, how Danny had started out, knowing only instinctively how to sing and how to keep rhythm with a pair of maracas or a tambourine. From there, he evolved in a drummer, though that had been a brief stint. No longer a drummer. He was a guitarist now.

“I can play drums again if I need to,” Danny said suddenly, as though reading Matt’s thoughts.

“How did you know I was here?”

“I know these things, Matthew,” Danny said enigmatically. “I know you.”

The Innocents’ heavenly abode was always full of puppies. These were puppies who had been hit by cars or been put to sleep. Patrick and Timmy were lying on the floor, and the puppies were licking their faces and crawling on their stomachs. All in all, the two Innocents were overjoyed to be surrounded by what were arguably God’s cutest creations. A Golden Retriever pup was pulling at Timmy’s leg when the visitors came. The puppies all yelped with excitement and ran to the door.

A young couple stood outside. “We’re Andrew and Martha Selwyn,” the woman said.

Timmy nodded. “Danny’s parents.”

“We’d a favor we’d like to ask you,” the man continued. He looked down as a Dalmatian and a Pug jumped on his ankles. “Hey there, pups.” He leaned down to pet them.

Martha peered inside the beachhouse-style mansion. “So this is where Danny will be living.”

Patrick and Timmy looked at each other knowingly. “When?” Timmy asked.

“Soon,” she replied.

May 12th, 1973

"Denise invited me to dinner just for old times' sake," Danny brought up to Matt. "Is it all right if I go?"

"Sure." Matt thought back. "Denise, Denise...Don't tell me. The launderer? No, that was Darlene. The actress? No, that was Doreen Latimer, of course."

"She liked _you_ ," Danny reminded.

"Oh, yeah, I know. Wait, one of your two sisters?”

Danny chuckled. “No, silly, that’s Donna and Debby!”

“Oh, I remember them well,” Matt reassured him. “But Denise-- It rings a bell, that's for certain. Wait!" He snapped his fingers in victory, then frowned. "Oh no, not **that** Denise. You mean Raven?"

"Yeah, Raven Bartram."

"She's the one who tried to make us think you got her pregnant."

"Yeah, I know, but she was going through teenage angst."

"Yeah, you haven't had a real date since I don't know when. Oh, wait a minute, she married, didn't she?"

"Yeah, but she's separated now, and this is just a friend to friend visit anyway."

"Well, why didn't she invite both of us then?"

Danny shrugged. "I guess cause the two of us know each other better. I can turn her down if you feel snubbed, you know."

Matt waved the notion aside. "Naah."

The radio station was playing a creepy psychedlic tune as Danny drove his new sports car, with extended pedals to adjust for his lack of height. The night breeze seemed too intense. Danny closed the window and turned the station. He hadn’t told Matt about his dream. Perhaps Matt had even had the dream himself. Danny recognized now that some of the dreams the Four Innocents had shared had been premonitions of tragedy.

He wondered about the dream he had had last night. He was in a cemetery in the British countryside—or was it the ruins of the haunted monastery he and his mother had visited when he was a toddler? The wind had been howling. He had been alone and scared. Someone had just killed Timmy and Patrick, and now they were after him. He hid behind a gravestone, then chanced running. A shadow loomed after him no matter how fast he ran, the shadow growing larger all the time.

Following Denise's directions, Danny was surprised to find her address corresponded with a large house. He got out of his sports car. The wind howled like a banshee, just like in his dream. Danny gazed up at the sky. Feathery clouds were racing across the moon and stars, looking for all the world like sped-up film or time-elapsed photography. It reminded Danny of how quickly time passed, how he had once had three friends and now only had one. He shivered.

Collecting his nerves, he rang the bell. Denise answered the door. She was in a simple black dress with white trimmings. “Oh, hello, Danny,” she said vacantly, sounding as distracted as someone who had just stepped out of the shower.

She opened the door more fully, and he stepped into the hallway. “You live up here all by yourself?”

“No, my husband is still with me.”

“But I thought—”

“Shh! He’s in the other room. We also have a maid we just acquired, Leslie. Oh, here she is now.”

Leslie, with dirty blond hair pulled tightly into a bun, walked up to Danny. Her cheeks were red with baddly applied rouge. “May I take your jacket, sir?”

“Oh, okay, sure.” Danny slipped out of it and handed it to her.

Danny followed Denise into a living room. Mr. Gualtiero sat in an armchair, leafing through a newspaper. He looked up at Danny and grunted.

“Oh, hello,” Danny said awkwardly. He received an icy glare in reply.

Denise chuckled nervously. “He’s still sore at you for that time at the Italian restaurant.”

 _Then why’d you invite me here?_ Danny wondered.

“Dinner is on the table,” Leslie announced flatly.

Gualtiero sat at the head of the table. Denise sat to his right, and Danny on her right. Leslie served them beef medallions.

“Uh, chilly weather we’re having,” Danny commented nervously.

Gualtiero grunted. “Oh, yes, it’s creepy out,” Denise agreed, after a moment’s hesitation.

“I was telling Matt the other day with this chilly weather we’ve having we might as well leave California and move to Michigan.” He laughed politely at his own joke. 

Without excusing himself or touching his meal, Gualtiero left the room.

“Is it cold in Michigan?” Denise asked absent-mindedly.

“In winter.” He looked at her. “The wind’s been howling. Did you ever hear of the Irish legend of the banshee?”

The harbinger of death. Denise’s face paled. “Please don’t talk of that, Danny. It scares me.”

“Why did you invite me here?” he asked bluntly.

“Well, I thought—” she began, but noticed he was staring at Leslie, who stood in front of the table. And Leslie was staring straight back, unflinching.

Danny’s lips mouthed the name “Genie.” He leaped to his feet. “Why, Denise?”

“Danny—”

“You brought me here to kill me!”

“I’m sorry, Danny.”

Danny bolted for the front door. Genie bided her time. Gualtiero stood guard there. “Going somewhere, runt?” Danny instead fled up a staircase.

_Hold on, Danny. Catch your breath._

Danny took deep breaths as he sat behind the boxes in the closet, his legs drawn up into his arms. _I don't believe this. I know Genie hates us, but to go to all this trouble? Of course, her moral standards are probably solely based on greed and vengeance. Well, I've got to get out of this, for Matt's sake. It's been hard enough on him without Patrick and Timmy_. 

Danny's ears picked up the noise of his pounding heart, and he jumped. No footsteps though. He sighed with temporary relief. _Oh, no, someone is coming now. Well, I can’t run, she’s sure to see me_. _My safest bet is to just hide in here and hope a quick peek is enough to satisfy her. Her hand is on the doorknob._

Genie opened the closet door and turned on the light. Nothing at first glance. Her dagger raised in her hand, she slowly stepped in, soon coming across Danny, frightened and huddling behind a stack of cardboard storage boxes. Genie smiled and raised the dagger into the air, but Danny leaped to his feet and dashed past her out the door.

He ran out to the balcony, and climbed over the railing. Hopefully, Genie was at least a few years older than him, and would not be nimble enough to do so, and would take the stairs, giving Danny more time. Danny landed with a thud onto the backyard, but quickly got up and ran towards the back wall. When he had sprinted across nearly half of the lawn, he looked behind him to see Genie following. Danny was nervous, but realized his hunter could not run as fast or as long as he could. Genie herself reached the halfway point when Danny clambered over the wall. Alarms rang and spotlights searched the backyard. _Maybe they’ll blind her_ , Danny thought, as he headed for distant city lights.

Wanting to put as much space between him and the Gualtieros' estate as possible, Danny continued running until every part of his body cried out for him to stop. Winded, he stumbled on, coming to and passing through a tree‑lined ditch.

He heard the engine of a vehicle behind him. Looking around, he saw a jeep heading out his way from the estate. _Better start running again_ , Danny realized, but he could only manage a lope. The crescending roar of the jeep; however, caused his energy to return. Not too far up ahead, a hill rose sharply. At the top of this steep incline was a chain link fence, separating the city streets from the field. If only Danny could reach those streets, he might be able to locate an open business, and find safety in a crowd of people.

He was running at full speed now, coming closer and closer to the incline, but the jeep had almost caught up to him. He started up the steep climb, but lost his footing and tumbled to the bottom. He lay on the ground, panting, his body too exhausted to allow him to get up. The jeep stopped and Genie walked towards Danny. "End of the line for you, runt," the woman announced. Danny made one more attempt to get up and race for it, but he fell back to the ground before making it to his feet. "You put up a real good fight, though," she confessed, putting a knee on Danny's chest. "I have nothing against you, I want you to know. Actually, I'm being paid off by someone who wants to see all four of you dead. Well, three down for him now, one to go." 

Danny again struggled, but was too weak to make much effort. Expecting to feel metal pierce his skin, he was surprised when Genie kissed his lips. "Actually, I do like all of you, especially Matt."

"Don't do this to him," Danny pleaded, gasping for air.

"Without you, maybe I can have him for my own," Genie said. She stabbed downwards, but with a last reserve of energy, Danny rolled away and she only wounded his arm. He pulled himself to his feet and again went for the fence. “Why can’t you go easy, like your two friends did?” Genie demanded, pulling him down. She pinned him against the links. “Timmy was so willing. Patrick was so trusting.”

He broke free of her grasp. “You’ll find I’m not so mild-mannered as they,” he remarked, swinging a fist at her. He was exhausted and she easily dodged it. She tapped into his forward momentum and tripped him. He toppled face first to the ground. She pounced on him and drove the dagger into his back.

He was still. Genie watched him for a few minutes, but the soul within him had been thrown out. He was dead then. She sat down on the ground, wrapping her arms around her drawn-up legs. Suddenly she was overcome with tears. _Why?_ She wondered. _I’m supposed to be immune to this._ Maybe it was because she hadn’t been around at the exact moment when her former victims passed from one world to another. Well, she probably was with Patrick, but he slipped off so quietly. But Danny—she had seen him just moments ago, feisty and full of life. _And_ _I took that from him,_ she realized.

She stood up and kicked the body. “Why didn’t you make it easy for me?” she sobbed.

III

The illuminated clock on the nightstand read 10:05 when Gualtiero entered his darkened bedroom. "Is he dead?" he heard Denise ask. She was sitting up in bed, drawing the sheets around her shoulders for warmth. Her voice showed no trace of emotion.

"She had to chase him down, but she got him,” Gualtiero replied.

"Where'd you put him?"

"Me and her are going to drop him off in the bad section of town, then get the money. We'll tell Winward he was alive when he left the house, and what happened after that, how could we have any idea?"

"Yeah, they'll get suspicious, you know." She sniffed, then asked, "How much money we getting?"

"Five thousand dollars."

"He was a nice kid. He was worth more than that." 

Gualtiero just gave an odd chuckle, and left.

Denise lay awake. She heard her husband leave the house. Restless, she got up to get a drink of water and entered the hallway. The creaking noises of the walls and furniture frightened her. Her ears perked up. A faint jingle jangle she had heard seemed to be getting louder, and it could not be explained as the house settling down. "Who's playing the tambourine?" she demanded, quickly turning on the living room light. The tambourine lay on the floor; it had been on the couch earlier. Somehow it must have been knocked off; maybe that would explain the noise. Denise picked it up and placed it back on the shelf.

Heading for the kitchen, she was startled by the sight of something out of the corner of her eye. She yelped, then felt silly. It had just been a stray lock of her own hair. She brushed it back out of her face.

She poured herself a tall glass of water and sipped it slowly, safe in the light of the kitchen. Finally, she braved the darkness of the hallway.

Back in the bedroom, the eerie light of the clock face caught her eye. How long had she been awake anyway? The clock told her it was almost nine forty-five. That couldn't be right. She could have sworn her husband had come in around ten.

Going up to the nightstand to verify her eyesight, she noticed a tambourine lying on top of it. _I don't remember us having two tambourines,_ she thought in dread. 

She turned away. That’s when she saw him, standing in front of her, transparent with a white glow. “Danny,” she whispered.

He spoke. “Denise—”

She sobbed hysterically. “Danny, I didn’t mean it! It’s not my fault! I’m sorry!”

“Denise, I tried to help you. More than once.”

“I know!” She grabbed a sheet off the bed and dabbed her running nose.

“But how can anyone help you, Denise, if you don’t help yourself?”

She sunk to the floor. “I’m miserable, I know, I know!”

“You can help yourself, Denise.”

Denise nodded vehemently. “I’ll try!”

He did not speak. She looked up. His gaze was distant; his eyes were made out of light. He had never looked more beautiful. “Matt, I’m sorry,” he said. “I tried to stay alive. She stabbed me in the back¼” (Here Denise thought he was talking about her betrayal, but then she realized he was talking about a physical action Genie had taken.) “¼And then suddenly, I was out here, looking back at myself. There was a barrier around my body; I couldn’t get back in. Matt, you hold on to life. Don’t try to join Timmy, Patrick, and me, whatever you do. Besides, if Genie and her backer have their way, you may be joining us soon enough. But try to live and try to enjoy life. And you know I love you, Matthew.”

He faded away. Denise sunk to the floor.

She did not know how long she lay there, but it was long after her tears had run dry. When she got up, the clock was still at 9:45. 

She screamed as chimes rang out. Then she composed herself. "Sheesh, Denise, it's just the damned bell!"

She whimpered, drawing her robe around her. With the tambourine in hand, she walked to the door. Opening the door, she might as well have greeted a zombie. Matt stood trembling in front of her, his complexion pale, dark circles under his haunted eyes. "You're wondering a-about Danny...?" Denise asked.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Matt returned. "I knew sometime after he left tonight that I'd never see him alive again."

Denise looked at the ground, nodding, thinking about Danny’s message to his surviving bandmate. "He, uh, left here a while ago." Suddenly worried about her husband, she asked, "Why, didn't he come home?" 

"Yeah, right, lady.” The words stung her; hadn’t Danny just made the inhuman effort to chastise her? “Gualtiero knows what he's doing. I heard he has mob connections. No one will be able to pin any evidence on him. I just hope I get the body back." Matt looked angrily happy, a hysterical gleam in his eye as he continued, "See, Timmy was cremated, and when Patrick died, he was, too, and their ashes were interred together. And Danny's will be with their's, and when I die, we'll all be together forever, indistinguishably intermixed." He noticed the tambourine Denise was holding, and, laughing abruptly, casually eased it out of her hand. Before walking away with it, he said, "You'll get away with it in the courts, but I know you two killed Danny."

"We didn't!" Denise shouted, then lowered her voice to a whisper. "We didn't. It was Genie."

"You do know about it then." He stared at her. “Danny knew you weren’t trustworthy,” Matt continued accusingly. “Yet he chose to give you his trust anyway. What for? So you could prove yourself pathetic?”

Denise slammed the door on his face. She leaned back against it, panting. The tormented expression on Matt's face and his knowledge of their guilt was more haunting than her not seeing a tambourine on the living room shelf.

Danny stood outside the Gualtiero house, watching Matt walk to the van. In frustration, the Winward boy kicked a tire, then pounded his fists against the door. “Poor Matt,” Danny uttered.

He then heard a woman calling him. "Daniel Aidan Selwyn! You stop mucking about this instant!" It was a voice he had forgotten, but now the memory came flooding back.

"You're being a naughty little boy, haunting hysterical young women!" another voice, this one male, chided. He knew that as well.

Danny joined the spirits on the lawn. "Mother, Father! How you been all these years?"

"Oh, we're doing just heavenly, thank you," Mr. Andrew Selwyn replied.

"Heavenly, hah!” Martha Selwyn continued. “A little after life humour there, if you please. Of course, we realize that you want to see Timmy and Patrick, but we begged them to be allowed to see you first. After all, you'll be spending all eternity in their company."

"So you've met them, then?" Danny asked. 

"Yes, they're marvelous boys, and they love you so."

"We knew them even before, actually," Mr. Selwyn brought up. "We've been keeping an eye on you and Debby and Donna over the years, and we enjoyed watching you and your bandmates get into all your adventures and what-not. You take after your mother, Danny. Always getting into some sort of trouble."

"Yeah, but we had a great time," Danny reminisced. "That reminds me, I've got to do something for Matt."

"Yes, haunting Denise Gualtiero won't do him much good," Mr. Selwyn remarked. 

"But you should come up and see Timmy and Patrick first," Mrs. Selwyn suggested. "They can help you help Matt."

"All right," Danny agreed. 

Matt amazed himself with his calm on the way home. He was numb; it all seemed too unreal. Just before he turned onto Bethany Drive, he changed his mind and drove to his sister's house. The van screeched as he pulled up in the driveway, and he did not bother locking it up. He bolted for the Fraynes' front door, pounding on it and screaming. Voices started chattering inside; the porch light flickered on. Matt sobbed on Caroline's bare feet while she and Jim, frightened and concerned, demanded an explanation. "Matt, please tell us what's the matter!" Caroline insisted.

"Jaymee, stay in your room," Jim warned.

In a hoarse whisper, Matt finally began to answer his relatives. "It's all over."

"What's all over?" his sister wondered.

"I'm the only one left."

Caroline caught Jim's gaze, and he nodded knowingly. She knelt down by Matt, holding him. "My poor little brother. Why does life keep doing this to you?"

Danny hummed a hymn of praise as he walked down the street of gold. He had been made perfect, and all his bitterness at being murdered was gone. He stopped on the street and looked up. The mansion looked like their old beachhouse, but all spruced up and unnaturally shiny. He knocked on the door. He heard lots of barking.

The door opened. Puppies poured out. An overgrown one jumped on Danny and knocked him to the ground. The excited dog licked his face all over.

A hand reached down to pull Danny off the ground. Danny gazed up, following the arm of that hand. There was Patrick, grinning, and Timmy, behind him, smiling. “Hey, fellas, what’s up?” he greeted casually as he got to his feet.

“Welcome to the other side, old chum,” Timmy said, bowing dramatically, as Danny hugged Patrick.


	5. Waking from a Dream

CHAPTER FIVE: WAKING FROM A DREAM

I

Matt woke up to stare into a familiar face of years past. "Billie!" he cried. He looked around and saw that his mother, Caroline and Jim were also present. He also noticed that he was in his bedroom--back in Trotter. "How'd I get here?"

"You had a nervous breakdown, dear," Mrs. Winward explained.

"Oh," Matt said, memories coming back. "Danny's dead," he muttered. "All three of my bandmates--my best friends--are dead."

"Yes, the doctor thinks that's what caused your nervous breakdown," Billie stated.

"Well, Matt," Mrs. Winward said. "We brought you home. You're to get plenty of rest, and I'll make sure you get it, no matter what your father says. He thinks you can work your troubles away."

"Where is Paw?" Matt asked.

"Oh, he and Jacob are out fishing. We sent them out, actually, it's not that they don't care about how you're doing. Betsy and Wanda Sue are out taking care of Mirabelle's new baby.

"Well, I think Matt had better get more rest now," Mrs. Winward decided, ushering everyone else out of the room. "Take it easy, Matthew, honey," she advised.

"Maw, can you stay a moment?" Matt requested. "You too, Billie, if you want."

The two returned to the bedside. "I don't remember much between the night Danny died and now," Matt told them. "How long has it been?"

"A few days," Mrs. Winward reported. "But I can tell you what you did. You just lay on Jim and Caroline's couch and hardly recognized anyone. You did ask to go home, though, so we brought you back. We wanted to keep an eye on you anyway. You said there was nothing left for you in California."

"What else did you bring?" Matt wondered.

"Oh, we brought all your stuff that was in the house except some of the larger pieces of furniture. We could probably arrange something if you wanted any of those things. Oh, and the urn's here, too. It's all taken care of. Your taste is a bit unusual, but Caroline said that's what you and your bandmates had requested. If you remember, you refused to arrange a service, but we made a phone call to England and were able to speak with his sister Debby. The coroner said Danny was stabbed to death. He and his car were found in a bad neighborhood in Los Angeles."

"But he was murdered at Gualtiero's place," Matt stated. "Maw!" Caroline called. "The phone's for you."

"That guy knows how to weasel his way out of charges," Matt continued.

"Yes, well...I have to get the phone. Excuse me, honey," Mrs. Winward said. "Billie, keep him company for as long as he wants."

Left alone with Billie, Matt was quiet for a moment, and so was she. Then he said, "You know, when I woke up, I thought for a moment it had all been a dream."

"You mean a nightmare?"

"No, I'm not talking about the last few days. I meant the last few years. It's like a dream you have where your fondest wishes are realized, and it seems too good to be true--And it is, cause then you wake up."

Matt remembered now—there seemed to be a haze over his memories, but he remembered what had happened and what he had done. Nothing regrettable, such as using sex or drugs to take out his grief. It was just that the intense sadness of the past days had mercifully become a blur, to help make it seem less real. 

The image of Danny at the morgue when Matt had been called to identify him—that image was all too clear. Unlike Timmy’s or Patrick’s expressions, Danny’s countenance had not been peaceful. In fact, he looked in anguish. Matt knew Danny had not passed into eternal torment, so what caused him to look like that? Finally, he realized Danny had not wanted to die, that he had fought against it every inch of the way.

_Danny, you came to me in a vision. You told me to live, really live, in spite of all that happened. But how can I, Danny? I’m not as strong as you._

_How are Timmy and Patrick, Danny? Send them my love. Maybe fate will allow me to join you soon._

Sinking back down into bed, he moaned, “Why couldn’t it have been me instead of him?” Then, as though nothing had happened, he wrapped himself around a pillow and tried to get back to sleep. Maybe if he could sleep most of the time, things would be okay.

II

Matt slept a few days—basically he spent his hours in bed, in the privacy of his own room. He didn’t have to share it anymore with Jacob, since Jacob had married a Zuni/Navajo hippie named Rainbo and moved out on his own. Mrs. Winward didn’t mind Matt lazing about—she knew what catharsis and healing sleep could bring.

Mr. Winward felt otherwise. Before the week was over he marched into Matt’s room and dragged him out, exclaiming, “You’re going to work in the store!”

“Believe me, Carole,” he said to his wife. “The work will do him good. He’s a young ‘widower’, as it were, and doesn’t the Bible recommend against letting young widows grow lazy?”

“Yes, but consider that those young widows lost their husband _once_. Matt has lost his dearest loved ones _three_ times.”

“I still think the Biblical solution is to put him to work.”

Mrs. Winward sighed. “He will have to get back into a routine eventually.” As his mother, Mrs. Winward knew he had changed inwardly. In his eyes, she could see a faint maniacal gleam, in his rare laughter the hint of hysterical giggling. She hoped it wasn't the beginning of true madness, but just an expression of the stressed, rash desire to escape without a thought, to go into a coma, to die, or to go insane.

They had put Matt to work at the family’s service station. Matt was stocking shelves. Mrs. Winward was reviewing invoices. Mr. Winward was chatting with a red-faced customer, Mr. Dominick Hardy. “Yeah, gotta new mustang. Gotta tame ‘im.”

Matt sighed and looked up. “Why ya gotta tame him?” he asked tiredly.

“Well, how else’s one supposed to ride him?” Mr. Hardy wondered.

“Matt,” Mrs. Winward said warningly.

“Why you gotta tame him?” Matt asked again, his voice rising. “Why do people always gotta take that which is wild and free and crush it so it’ll conform?”

Mr. Hardy didn’t seem to take offense. He chuckled. “You got a personal interest in this horse, boy?”

Matt glared at him.

His mother came over, grabbing him by the arm and leading him to the garage. “Now, don’t you pay too much mind to Matthew.” She practically shoved him inside. “He ain’t been himself lately. He’s been rode hard and put up wet.”

Mr. Hardy laughed again, his face as bright as a stoplight. “I reckon.”

Matt peeked out from the other room. “You let that horse free, you hear?”

More chuckling. “Sure thing, sonny, whatever you say.”

Matt, though he dragged his feet through each day, did not allow his appearance to grow slovenly. He remained clean-shaved; he did not grow a beard. He hardly had the energy to sometimes perform the task of shaving, but sometimes it proved worthwhile. That is to say, he cut himself. Not on purpose, just part of the perils of shaving from the dawn of time. But he liked seeing his blood. It was somehow cathartic to him; they were crimson tears. It was all he could do to not attempt to give himself a deep gash on purpose.

In the garage, Mrs. Winward placed her hand on her son’s shoulder. “Matt, I know you’re still upset over Danny’s—and the others’—deaths. But didn’t you tell me that the Four Innocents stood for a sunshiny outlook, of being able to laugh at the troubles the world threw at you?”

“That philosophy died when they died,” Matt said sullenly.

“But you’re betraying what they stood for. What I’m sure their souls still want you to stand for.”

Matt whirled around angrily. “Ma!” He stopped his potential tirade suddenly, and nodded, looking down at the greasy floor. “Maybe. But I can’t help it. It can’t be helped.” She made as if to say something more, but he made a motion for silence. “Maybe someday. But today is not the day.”

Matt was ill-fitted to service station work. Then cousin Nathaniel saved the day. Nathaniel invited Matt to join his country-western band, Scout, but Matt said he never wanted to be an official member of any band but the Four Innocents. Finally, he agreed to sit in with them as a long-term "guest" player, and took up guitar once more as he rehearsed with them. They were scheduled for a long period of gigs in Piedra Grande, a small town neighboring Trotter.

It seemed like things might be all right after all, as all right as they could be considering what had happened. That would not be the case, Matt's mother could tell.

After rehearsal on August 20th, Scout decided to take it easy and have some drinks at the Piedra Grande restaurant, which was not officially open for the night yet. The owner let them rehearse there before their evening gigs, and allowed them to help themselves to a reasonable amount of drinks. Matt joined Scout members Nat, Ollie, and Freeman in the dining room, though he drank ginger ale instead of beer. Another of Nathaniel's bandmates, Ron Wilkes, had stayed at the bar counter in the adjoining room.

Freeman mentioned a news item about an untimely death, which ended up leading to Matt speaking about his bandmates. "Sometimes I wish I never met them--just because of the pain of their being gone, but then I think, whatever the price was I had to pay was worth it for their friendship, and having somebody to relate to in matters like...mores, and stuff."

"Yeah, maybe one of the good things that comes out of this is they'll remain eternal virgins and eternally youthful, like you heralded yourself to be," Ollie remarked.

"Yeah, if you fellas reached thirty or so, you might have thought about settling down," Nat joined in.

"No, we wouldn't have," Matt argued.

Nathaniel remained firm. "Oh, I don't know. A lot of guys say when they're young they'll never settle down, but when they start getting older, they start talking about wanting the security and warmth of a family."

"Well, see, we already had that in each other," Matt pointed out, leaning forward as he emphasized his statement.

"Oh, you know what I mean. They want a woman to hold, and they want to have children of their own, that they can see their heritage in."

"We didn't need that," Matt insisted, disturbed and talking rapidly. "We were all stubborn, and we all took pride in what we were. We were that way by choice."

"Oh, you'll see when you get older."

"People told me when I was twelve that when I was eighteen, I'd see things differently. But I didn't, so they just keep setting the years further ahead, but if it ain't different now, it ain't gonna be different then."

His cousin didn't seem to hear. "Your thirties, Matt. Wait until your thirties."

"I didn't want to get married until I was 28," Ollie said. "Then I met Katie."

"Yeah, but we made a commitment in blood to each other," Matt told them.

"You may have started yearning to move on, though," Nat kept up.

"Shut up, Nat!" Matt yelled. "Shut up!"

Silence filled the room for a moment, then Ollie spoke up. "Look, Matt, none of us know for certain what would've happened. Not even Nat. Perhaps you would have been the one proved right."

"I'm sorry, Matt," Nat apologized. "I didn't mean to get you so uptight. I was just trying to make conversation, that's all."

Matt nodded and left the room. Heading outside, he had to pass through the bar, where he was confronted by Ron Wilkes. Ron spoke in such an intense, infuriated whisper that Matt thought he was going to get mugged. "You know, I used to like you when you were just a kid," Wilkes told him. "I thought all that anti-sex stuff was just baby talk. But you're still like that, boy! It's about time you grew up." He threw Matt against the wall, then leaned back piously against the bar. "You hear me? Grow up!"

Staring at Wilkes, Matt became fully aware again of something he and his friends had always known, but had been allowed to ignore in each other's company--they were freaks. All the men and boys he knew now were either interested in raising a family or pursuing sexual conquests. To the former, it was every man's destiny to become a husband and father, and every woman's fate to be a wife and mother. To the latter, it was a fact that all men ever thought about was having sex, and women were merely objects of desire. Matt was of neither group, and again he now felt the intense loneliness of being the only one of his kind. Billie, besides his bandmates, was closest to his kind, but although Matt felt near to her, he never had been as emotionally intimate with her as he had with his three friends. She had left earlier in October, though, for missionary work in Mexico, and Matt didn't want his loneliness to get in the way of the work of the church.

All Matt knew was that he was sick of brides and grooms, babies, romance songs, and both the sexual revolution and the traditional family. It was all too much. He rushed at Wilkes, but found himself knocked to the floor. "Oh, come on, you don't expect me to believe a sissy like you can fight?" 

Matt seethed, wiping the blood from his lips. He stood, wobbly at first, and glancing at the ax which rested above the fire extinguisher. 

"So what you gonna do now?" Wilkes demanded. "Gonna tell me your daddy can beat my--" He stopped short in shock as Matt hefted the ax. He had only expected and wanted a mere fist fight. "W-what are you gonna do with that thing?"

Matt smiled wickedly. "Maybe I'll emasculate you," he announced with sadistic pleasure. "And after you, every one else in town. Every male, that is. If I knew how to spay the women I'd do that, too."

Mirabelle walked in at that moment, cradling her baby. "Matt, what are you doing?" she scolded in surprise. 

As he whirled around to look at her, Wilkes took the opportunity to flee. Matt just continued to stare at the mother and child, a manic glare in his eyes as he held the ax in one hand, clapping the shaft of it onto the other hand again and again. Mirabelle was petrified to see him like this. "Matt, don't you come near my baby with that thing," she blurted as she backed away, and the infant started to cry. "I don't know what's wrong with you, but I swear I'm gonna scream for help if you come one step nearer."

"I wasn't gonna do anything!" Matt protested. Still raging at the world, he added, "Although I'd like to make a eunuch out of that baby before he hits adolescence."

Nat and Ollie walked into the room. “Matt, now quit it,” his cousin said firmly.

Matt met their look with a withering gaze. “All you two can do is try to rob me of my bandmates’ memories. Try to rape them when they’re dead and can’t defend themselves. Try to rape me, too.” Matt put one hand on a table and lifted the ax in the air. “How’d you like to see how that makes me feel?”

“Matt, don’t you chop your hand off!” Mirabelle ordered, some genuine concern in her voice. “You won’t be able to make a living as a guitarist no more.”

“And you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he demanded, taking the ax back in both hands.

“Don’t come any closer!” Mirabelle exclaimed again.

Matt stumbled--the dreaded step closer. Mirabelle screamed as if she had been struck, and the baby howled.

Matt panicked; he dropped the ax and bolted out the door, running scared until he was clear out of town.

III

“Matt shouldn’t be living like this,” Danny observed from above.

“If you can call that living,” Timmy remarked.

“But what can be done?” Patrick wondered.

“His grief is intolerable,” Timmy added. “It’s like when I suffered from depression.”

“Hello, son!” Andrew Selwyn called, Martha by his side. “We were just going to catch up on the girls. You coming?”

Danny snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! I’ll plant a message in Debby’s and Jack’s dreams tonight!”

"Why?" Timmy wondered.

"Trust me, I've just got a feeling England will be better for him." And when someone in the afterlife just got a "feeling", it was usually correct.

“And I’m gonna tell Matt we would’ve stayed who we are, no longer how long we lived,” Timmy decided.

Thus it was, that in her dream, Debby was somehow surprised to find Lord Sheehan joining her for a walk down to the village green. What sight should meet their eyes upon arriving, but Danny seated upon the grass, looking as natural as could be.

“Danny! You’re back!” Debby cried, though she wasn’t as shocked as she might have been. This was a dream, after all.

“I’ve never really been gone,” Danny corrected. “But I’m not here to stay.” He looked down. In his lap there was suddenly a luminous volume of the Bible. “It says here that King David, remembering his best buddy Jonathan, was anxious to see if there were some service he could provide for any of Jonathan’s remaining living relatives¼”

“What does that have to do with us?” Jack wondered curiously.

“As you are aware, one of my friends survives,” Danny reminded them. “And he needs help. He needs more comforting surroundings than the ones he finds himself in.”

“Poor Matthew,” Debby realized.

“I’m concerned about him, and I was hoping you two could help.”

“Well, we’ve plenty of room at the manor,” Jack observed.

“Yes, yes, we could accommodate him with no problem,” Debby added.

“Perhaps he can help tend the horses like you used to do, Danny.”

Danny smiled as he faded. “Take good care of him. Please?”

In the morning, Debby sat down to breakfast. Lord Alison came in, paper in hand. “You know, my dear, I was thinking—this is a nice, pleasant, peaceful little village. We should invite Danny’s friend Matthew here.”

Debby swallowed hard her orange juice. “You know, you may find this hard to believe, but I was just thinking the same thing.”

In Matt’s troubled sleep, Timmy appeared, standing before him on an abandoned highway, much like the one Matt was physically in. “Hi, Matt,” Timmy greeted, smiling wistfully. “Tough day, huh?”

“It just gets worse and worse without you,” the bandleader replied. He stood and took Timmy’s hands in his. “It’s good to see you—even if this is but a dream.”

“We’ll be together in our dreams, Matt, just like we always were.”

“You mean—”

“It’s really me, Matt. I’m here to answer some of your doubts about what our future would’ve been like had we survived.”

“It doesn’t end with marriages and divorces and all that?” Matt asked hopefully.

“No, we stand firm. However, some members from Danny’s village kidnap him and nearly have him raped in an attempt to force him to continue the Sheehan line and not have it go to Donna’s husband. Beatrix kills herself in a stunt trying to make me marry her, sending me on a major traumatized guilt trip. Patrick is beaten and molested by his own father.”

“That’s all terrible news, but how is it more terrible than us dying?”

“Matt, our lives—not just the Four Innocents, but everybody—our lives are interconnected. I don’t know quite how yet, but if we survived, there is this teenage boy that would have killed himself. And that teenage boy was meant to be the father of the girl that would form the Four Ingenues, a group that will take our message of innocence and friendship to greater heights than we ever could.”

“Will I be around to see this group? Will I be their manager or something?” Matt asked in confusion.

“That’s not for me to say. Just don’t jump the gun, Matt, or dire circumstances may result.”

“Where’s Patrick and Danny?”

“Danny went on some errand he thinks is going to help you lead a happier life. As for Patrick—” Timmy looked back, and Patrick was suddenly there, holding a beagle puppy. More puppies played at his feet.

“Hi, Matt,” Patrick said with an angelic smile. “I’m going to send down one of my puppies, to prove this is all real. But not for keeps, just to say hi.”

Matt nodded, not understanding. “I love you guys. I love you so much.”

Patrick and Timmy just smiled, and sent a feeling of warmth and peace into Matt’s heart.

The dream Timmy had given Matt calmed him. He finally awoke to find a cocker spaniel puppy licking his nose. Matt sat up. “Well, where’d you come from?” The puppy yipped and ran into the brush, disappearing from sight. Matt shook his head and grinned. “You’ll be with me in my dreams,” he uttered, and wrapped his arms around himself as though embracing himself. He decided to calmly hitch a ride to the next town and call his mother.

Matt felt triumphant, wanting to go into Piedra Grande and tell Nathaniel and his bandmates that the Four Innocents would have always remained the Four Innocents. They would never believe a dream, though, no matter how real it felt. He shouldn’t show his face around town for some time anyway, he supposed. 

A truck approached in the distance; Matt waited for it. As it drew closer he saw it belonged to his family. Mr. Winward pulled over in front of Matt. His greeting was, “Dang fool kid! Hanging out on the side of the road like some kind of antelope!” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the passenger seat. “Get in!”

“How’d you know I was here?” Matt asked, as Mr. Winward’s ride resumed.

“That silly Mirabelle called and said you went crazy and ran out of town.” He was gruffly silent.

“Is that all she said?” Matt asked timidly.

“No. She blubbered on.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“Matt, you’re a dang adult now. What do you think I’m gonna do, spank you?”

“I mean, with the law?”

Mr. Winward shook his head. “Nope. Everyone thinks you just..‘freaked out’, is the term they used.”

Still, Matt did not want to go back to Piedra Grande, and did not want to stay longer in Trotter after his father drove him home. He did not know what to do. 

A few days later he got a phone call from Debby. She suggested Matt come live in England at Lord Sheehan's manor. "The idea came to me all of the sudden," she explained. "And I thought it odd at first, but then, it seemed to me like a natural thing."

Matt made himself wait a day before deciding, but then he agreed to the idea. The Sheehans made the arrangements, and Matt's mother drove him to the nearest international airport.


	6. Friend of a Friend's Family

CHAPTER SIX: FRIEND OF A FRIEND'S FAMILY

I

Matt came to the airport with his parents. Nathaniel, Mirabelle, and the baby had tagged along. “You don’t have to go,” Mirabelle insisted. “I’ll forget about the ax incident.”

“I appreciate that,” Matt said sincerely. “But learnin’ the ropes of a foreign country—maybe it’s just what I need to keep my mind off things.”

“How long will he be on the plane?” Mrs. Winward fretfully asked her husband.

“It’s broken up,” he explained. “He’s going to land in an eastern American city and switch planes for the flight across the ocean.”

“I will write,” Matt promised. “And I’m sure Lord Sheehan will let me phone at least when I first arrive.”

Matt sat in the plane, waiting for take off. Somehow he had secured a window seat. He was surprised at his emotions—a little bit of happiness, a little bit of excitement, and a lot of nervousness. He had brought a couple of issues of both New Mexico’s and Arizona’s travel magazines—maybe Debby and Lord Sheehan would be interested in doing a bit of armchair travelling themselves, but for now it was he who leafed through them.

Matt was nodding off when the pilot announced they were circling London. He sat up, trying to remember what Debby looked like. Lord Sheehan he’d met twice. He hoped Donna wouldn’t show up—she was such a shrew and had once tried to separate Danny from his bandmates. _Now now_ , Matt chided himself. _It’s not good to bear grudges. Against Donna. Even against Genie. But it’s so hard not to._

He climbed down from the plane. A pretty young lady with shiny brunette curls and a heart-shaped face was in front of him in an instant. Debby. She hugged him. Matt’s first instinct was to squirm out of it, especially when he glanced some people giving them queer looks, but it felt good, like when his friends used to hold him—only there was something different about this embrace; he felt the curves of her body against his chest.

She drew away, eyeing him carefully. “How are you doing, Matt?” she asked gently.

“As well as can be expected,” Matt replied. “I don’t think I’ll ever fully recover.”

“I can’t imagine the pain you’re going through. It’s bad enough losing one brother. But to lose three¼”

Matt sniffed. Then he noticed Lord Sheehan standing a few feet away. “Oh, Lord Sheehan, I didn’t see you!”

“Jack” clasped his hand warmly. “That’s alright, my boy. Oh, I arranged it so Donna wouldn’t be here. I hope you don’t mind.”

Matt chuckled. “I’m glad to see you, but I can wait to see her.”

“Well, come along, we’ll fetch your luggage and be on our way then.”

As Matt was driven through the green countryside, Debby beside him, he felt a sense of peace come to him. A beautiful land. A beautiful girl. _Um, never mind about the beautiful girl, Matt._

“I’ll take you on a tour of the manor,” Debby began awkwardly. “You, um, probably saw it all last time you were here, but—“ She chuckled nervously. “Just as a reminder.”

She looked at him. He nodded silently. His ebony eyes were so sad and soft, Debby found herself staring an instant. She blushed when she caught herself. “This way. You can have your choice of the spare bedrooms¼” Why was she so nervous? It hadn’t been this way last time Matt was here¼And Danny was here. It had been the only time since leaving that Danny had returned home.

“This room is¼” Debby hesitated before turning the light on. “¼The shrine.”

Matt’s eyes went wide. Branching out from the upper left hand corner of the room were pictures of Danny at all ages and stages of his life, including photos of him with his beloved bandmates. There were also record sleeves and newspaper clippings, a silver record of Selwynward’s first LP, and sheet music that Danny had penned himself. “I realize all of your friends deserve a memorial, but we’re—” She chuckled quickly. 

“—Partial to Danny here, as you can understand.”

Matt nodded. “It’s nice. I’ll explore it in more depth later. Alone, you know.”

“Of course,” Debby said understandingly.

Sheehan's peaceful village setting provided just the kind of quiet Matt needed to recover from his losses. He lived at the manor with Lord Sheehan, Donna, and Debby, and with the estate being so large, he could always find a place to just be by himself, which he now preferred, rather than mingle with people who didn't understand him. He had to confess he didn't understand them either. Also, at Sheehan, there were reminders that his friends actually had existed, at least Danny. In Trotter, the three of them just seemed so unreal, Matt realized, thinking back on how he felt like he was waking from a dream when returning there.

Lord Sheehan was jovial and kind. His staff was polite and helpful. 

The fiery Donna could be rude and annoying. Matt had his inevitable confrontation with her early on. In the kitchen, she walked up to him determinedly and peered up at him. “What exactly was going on between you and Danny?”

“Meaning¼?”

“You know what I mean. You know what they said about the two you living together.”

“Danny and I weren’t gay,” Matt stated through clenched teeth.

“C’mon, tell the truth one of these days. You’re not fooling anybody. Two guys alone together, claiming celibacy¼”

“You _like_ the idea of me and Danny..together..like that, don’t you?”

“No, I—“

“You fantasize about the two of us.”

“Why would I have sexual fantasies about my own brother?”

“Then why won’t you accept it when I say we were friends, not lovers?”

Donna didn’t answer. Debby, at the kitchen table, laughed. “He’s got you there, sister.”

“You’re supposed to defend me!” Donna pointed out.

“Okay,” Debby agreed cheekily. “Matt, please forgive her. She likes to spout off for no apparent reason.”

“You’re ganging up on me!” Donna was about to turn away when Matt rested an elbow against the wall, right by her head. Thus cornering her, he drew his face close to hers. “Remember this, Missy. _Don’t push me._ I’m not as patient as I used to be. Do you know why I left my relatives?” Donna didn’t answer. “Because I went crazy.”

“Matt—” Debby warned.

“I don’t want to go crazy again, but I’m gonna need your cooperation. Okay?”

Donna, whose face had paled, nodded and scurried off.

Matt leaned against the wall. Debby came up to him. “Well, I can’t exactly say I approve of your methods, but congratulations—that’s the first time I’ve ever seen Donna cower in front of anyone.”

From then on, Matt and Donna had a silent understanding. She would no longer nag him about anything.

Debby and Matt were sitting at the breakfast table. Matt was nursing a cup of cocoa, and Debby was eating poached eggs. Donna and her mild-mannered husband Roger waltzed in, engaged in a heated debate. “I don’t want to go to the flower show,” Donna was saying. “It’s always so terribly dull and boring.”

“But, darling—”

“But nothing! There’s chores to be done at the inn.” She turned away.

Roger, an avid amateur gardener, would not be deterred by bossy Donna. He grabbed her shoulder and whirled her around. “We _are_ going to the flower show. Right?”

Donna’s hard eyes melted away—and to Matt’s surprise, were replaced by eyes gleaming with lust. “All right. We will go. But I think there’s a task in the bedroom we need to take care of right away.”

“It’s a done deal.” They waltzed back out.

“Well, that was something new,” Matt remarked.

“What?” asked Debby.

“I never knew that side of Donna existed.”

“She likes it when Roger’s firm with her. He’s the only man who can handle her. Although you might have a chance.”

Matt laughed nervously. “No way. Getting romantic with her’s about as appealing as getting romantic with my mother. Although my mother’s nicer.”

One day, Matt woke up as despairing as ever. He stormed out of the manor, his thoughts in turmoil. He walked and walked, coming to the village. The sky appeared gray to him. The people he passed seemed inhospitable, despite their jolly greetings. _No more shall I try to make good out of bad. From now on, happiness will be unwelcome in my life. No matter that optimism is what my friends and I believed in—it’s all a lie. The world is evil, nothing more. And I shall give in to evil. Darkness will be my light and I shall walk in shadows always._

He saw Debby, all lace and curls, sit under a tree. Laughing children gathered around her to hear the stories she told. Matt heard birds singing. The sky was blue. The leaves of the tree were green. Debbie was radiant, beautiful. “You should join us sometime, Matthew,” she called. “Bring your guitar!”

_Forgive me, Lord. Forgive me, fellas. There is good in the world still, and I shall be a part of it._

Matt wasn't exactly sure how it came about, but eventually he realized the inevitable had happened--he had fallen in love with Debby. He hated feeling this way, but at the same time he found himself unable to stop dreaming of her. He knew know what Jack Sheehan had meant when talking about her grandmother, how without words, but just by her very nature, she gave you no choice in how you felt towards her. With this quality of hers now clearly in his mind, he wondered why he did not feel this way when he had first met her. Then, she had been just a person, Danny's sister. That was the answer. When he had first met her, he hadn't been lonely; he had immersed himself in the love of Timmy, Patrick--and Danny. Deprived of these affections, his attention re-focused itself on someone who, because of sibling ties, reminded him of one of his bandmates. 

Yet she held many special qualities of her own. Maybe he hadn't found the answer.

II

The air at the restaurant was one of elegance and romance. Debby's enjoyment of it was muted by her worries.

_We had a date and it went all right, so we’ve kept dating—and everything’s fine, I guess. Just not exciting. I really don’t feel this is what love is all about. And when does love “kick in” anyway? Am I supposed to fall in love with this man?_

"What's the matter, Debby?" Reggie asked. Reginald, a stubbly haired man in his thirties, was the son of another British lord. "You're barely nibbling at your dinner."

"Oh, nothing, really. I just keep thinking of Matt all alone in that big creepy manor, what with Grandfather away on that Christmas cruise, and Donna and Roger visiting some of our mother's relatives. He's already lonely enough as it is. He lost all his friends, you realize. One of them was my brother."

"I guess the poor fellow's had a spot of bad luck," Reggie remarked. "Perhaps he's jinxed."

Debbie sighed. "Perhaps. It's sad, really. He's such a sweet lad, never meaning no harm to anyone."

Reggie's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You say it's been just you and him alone the last couple of days?"

"Yes, but don't get the wrong idea. Matt considers himself to be a monk. I don't think he's ever even been out on a date."

"And what about you?"

Debby smirked. "What about me? I'm not about to join a convent, if that's what you mean."

"No, what I mean is, do you have any feelings for this bloke?"

"Mind your own business, Reggie."

"Well, it is my business!" Reggie insisted. "You're dating me; I should be informed if you're really interested in somebody else."

She raised her eyebrows cockily. "Maybe I am, maybe I'm not." She let it go at that.

They returned to Sheehan Hall to sit by the fireplace for a while.

Matt walked into the room. "Thought I heard you come in."

"Hello, Matt," Debby said. "Have you been all right alone?"

Matt shrugged. "I prefer being alone sometimes." He noticed that Reggie looked irritated. No doubt he preferred being alone with Debbie right now. Sullenly, Matt left.

"Quiet chap, isn't he?" Reggie observed. "I thought Americans were supposed to be boisterous sorts."

"Well, as I told you, he's suffered a lot the last few years," Debby pointed out.

"Yes, it's a pity," Reggie said simply.

"Maybe we should invite him to come chat with us," Debbie wondered.

"You heard him say he wanted to be alone."

She sighed. "Oh, I know."

"Besides, now's the time we can get to know each other better." He moved his lips closer to hers. Reluctantly, she kissed him.

Matt walked back in rather promptly. "'Scuse me."

The couple jerked apart. "What is it?" Reggie asked crankily.

Matt sat down on the table in front of the couch. "I don't prefer being alone right now."

"Well, I'm terribly sorry to inconvenience you," Reggie told him. "But this time is designated for couples only. And would you stop using that priceless antique table as a bench?"

"Sure, all right," Matt agreed, not managing to put much expression in his voice. Dejectedly, he walked away. "I'm going into the garden, Debby."

"All right, Matt." As soon as he had gone, she glared at Reggie.

"Well, thank goodness he's finally left," Reggie was saying. "He seemed to interrupt us on purpose."

"Reggie, how dare you!"

"Well, he did. I think he was jealous."

"I told you how he's hurting. You should be able to accommodate him a little."

Reggie stood up. "Then go bring him back, if that's what you want."

Stepping out into the garden, Debby noticed Matt withdrawn into himself. She walked over to the bench. "Matt, what's the matter? You seem more depressed than usual tonight. If it's about Reggie, don't worry. He was the one who stepped out of queue."

"Oh, that's all right. I know how couples get when they want some time to just be together and all that."

"Who said anything about me wanting to be alone with him?"

She smiled at him mischievously. "Reggie thinks you're jealous. And as a matter of fact, I think you're jealous, too."

He gave her an incredulous look. "What? Of Reggie?"

She acted as if he had admitted his envy. "Well, don't worry about him, Matt. I don't love him. He only likes to think I do. I'd like to get him off my back soon anyway. He bores me; he really does."

Matt leaned back on the bench, his nervous laughter failing to disguise his anxiety. 

"I convinced him to let you join us, though. All right?"

"Yeah, okay," Matt said, then stood up. "I guess we better be heading back inside then."

Together they walked to the open doorway. Debby stopped him at the threshold, raising a hand to caress his face. With wide eyes, he stared at her, knowing there were feelings in danger of soon being exposed. "Debby...?" he began softly, trying to ask why she was touching him the way she was.

"I love you, Matt," she whispered.

He was quiet for a moment, then also lifted his hand to her cheek, fondling it gently. He didn't know if he could say the words, or even if he should. But looking into her hopeful eyes, they just came. "I love you, too."

They embraced each other, and he nuzzled her hair. He was not aware of how long Debby and he stayed under that doorway, clinging tightly to each other, but the spell was finally broken by Reggie's sharp voice. "Pardon me, but I have to use the door?"

"Huh?" Matt blurted, pulling away from Debby.

"The doorway," Reggie explained. "The two of you are blocking it, and I need to leave."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Matt apologized, and he and Debby, who was blushing, stepped inside and out of Reggie's way.

"Behave yourself, Debby," Reggie chided. "You won't have me to look out for your interests anymore, that's for certain."

"I'm sorry, Reggie," she apologized. "But I love him. I have for quite awhile."

He glared at Matt. "This is uncharacteristic behavior for a supposed monk, isn't it?"

Debby shut the door after him.

"Oh, he's right," Matt said with a sigh. "Here I am, this celibate Innocent, and I'm falling in love with a girl."

"Don't worry about it," Debby advised him soothingly. "Just take it one step at a time."

They sat down on the couch. "So what do you want to do now?" Debby asked.

"I don't know, but we can't just sit here," Matt replied. "A guy and a girl alone in a big house shouldn't have too much idle time on their hands." It could lead to things he'd regret later.

They ended up watching television until they got sleepy. Then each of them retired to his or her bedroom.

They spent those weeks centering around Christmas and New Year’s alone. Together. It was rather cozy.

One evening, Debby convinced Matt to be her dance partner, to some nostalgic sounds from before Matt was born. Big bands, sweet bands.

“I don’t know how to dance with a woman,” Matt argued feebly.

“Don’t worry about that. The night is young. You’ve plenty of time for learning. I’ll lead for now.”

So they danced, easily, gently. Matt let the old sounds fill his head and imagined they came from the good ol’ days. Days of war and Great Depression, he reminded himself. Yet that would-be sobering thought failed to bring him down to earth.

He couldn’t believe what she felt like in his arms—so fragile, so alive. It was like cuddling a newborn puppy.

He looked at Debby and stumbled.

“What’s that?” she blurted. “Are you all right, Matt?”

Matt shook his head to clear it. “Yeah, I had a flashback for an instant.”

“From that time you were drugged up?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you see?” she asked curiously.

“Um, fairies around your hair,” he replied bashfully.

“Fairies?”

“Yeah. Little pixies.”

Debby smiled, her lips forming a heart shape.

“I guess you’re enchanted,” Matt said, trying to sound nonchalant about it, but coming off as shy.

“I guess so.”

III 

On Christmas day, Debby had Matt accompany her while she told seasonal stories to the children. Saying it was relating to the change of year coming soon, she added a new bit to her repertoire. "I call it 'The Year that Never Ends'," said she.

"Spring was full of cheer and youthfulness,

But kind of sad, as though he knew he could not last.

Spring gave life to others;

He died in Summer's warm embrace.

"Summer didn't want to see Spring go

But burned resplendent with the life given to him.

He shone his pure and golden hue upon the earth

And made it brighter.

Suddenly, Summer too was gone.

"Autumn always had a lively step

Invigorated by the crisp, cool breeze.

He relished in each day of his few months

And would have stayed longer if he could

To keep Winter company.

"Winter shivered in the frost,

Wondering where was the youth of Spring, the sunshine of Summer, and the life of Autumn?

Some say Winter is cold but I think of him as warm--

Because Winter is the time to nestle close to the one you love.

"Winter was lonely at the end of the year.

He didn't realize a new one would come

And bring back with it Spring, Summer, and Fall.

And they would all be one in the year that never ends."

When she finished, she turned to Matt, who avoided meeting her eyes directly. "I wrote that for you, as a Christmas present."

Matt smiled wistfully. "I know."

New Year's Eve they were still alone. Matt had gone to bed, but restless, went out to the den, where Debby sat, waiting for the official passing of the torch. She wore a pretty white nightgown that made her soft features look even softer, and she was quite a beautiful sight.

He joined her on the couch. "Decided to wait up for it after all?" she asked.

"Couldn't sleep, actually."

"Well, it's good not to be alone, anyway. I imagine both Grandfather and Donna are in midst of a revelry right now. Champagne and music and dancing and couples kissing as the clock rings--" Before she could say twelve, the clock in the den began to chime.

She looked at Matt, and was surprised to see him leaning nearer to her. He kissed her, and it was as warm and tender as she had always dreamed it would be. Her arms were tight around him now as she made sure she got a second helping.

Nothing more had happened..they had watched a little more of the festivities and gone to bed. Lying awake, Debby thought back to the kisses. _Matt has no experience. So where did he learn to kiss like that? Maybe I’ll never know._

IV

Matt and Debby had gone over to the bungalow where Debby and Danny had grown up. The Selwyns were now running it as a catered cottage, and Matt and Debby were here to make sure everything was in order after the Christmas guests had checked out.

Matt sat at the kitchen table, glancing over the lyrics he had scrawled on a piece of notebook paper. Debby came back in. “Everything’s in order. What’ve you got there?”

Matt turned the sheet upside-down. “No, let me see!” Matt shook his head. Debby, a mischievous look on her face, lunged for it. Matt leaped up, grabbing the paper. He ran down the hall, Debby following and giggling like a school girl.

Matt folded the paper and stuffed it under his shirt. Debby cornered him by closed door at the end of the hall.

“Why won’t you show me?” she asked.

“I’ll show you sometime,” he promised. “But it’s in a rough draft state.”

“Is it a song or a poem?”

“Which ever you want.”

She put a hand near the bottom of his black sweatshirt. “I could take it—“

“You wouldn’t. It doesn’t become a lady.”

She gazed up at him. The devilish glint in her eyes turned to something else—hope? Anticipation? Suddenly Matt understood her unspoken request. He put his arms around her and kissed her, once and again¼and again. He tried to put into each kiss love and warmth, not just desire. With one hand, he ran a finger down the curve of her back. She shivered in his arms. He wanted to take her into one of the inn’s comfortable bedrooms. For a split second, he visualized the two of them naked, making love. Lying in a canopied bed—surely, in such a cozy, wholesome setting it couldn’t be wrong, or could it? He knew the answer already.

He had lost count of how many times he had kissed her. He pulled away. “Matt, you’re shaking.”

“I don’t think we should be alone together like this.”

“Matt, don’t worry. I’m not gonna rape you! And I have my standards, too. I’m saving myself for my honeymoon night.”

“We should go outside now. In public. Under the tree.”

“Donna will be back tomorrow,” Debby reminded him, patting his arm reassuringly.

“Oh, Donna,” he said dismissively.

Debby laughed. “She’ll keep us in line.”

“I bet she will.”

Debby glanced down. Matt’s private piece of paper had fallen down to the floor, face up. She knelt, picking it up, turning it over so she could not read it. She handed it to Matt. “I’ll meet you under the tree.”

Matt nodded, a slight smile curling his lips.

As Debby turned to step away, she stumbled. Matt caught her. “Oops! Guess I can’t see straight!”

“Sorry,” Matt mumbled with understanding.

Debby smiled. “Don’t be.”

He met her a forty-five minutes later, and Debby wondered where he had been. He had his guitar in hand, and began to sing.

"She's like someone out of the days of yore

A princess from the realm of fairy tale lore

A look at her leaves you wanting more

"Oh, Little Storyteller, sit beside me

And tell me of how life used to be

For in your tales all ends happily."

"I wrote that for you in return for what you wrote for me," Matt told her.

"I know, Matt." She lay her head on his shoulder, snuggling in close to him. Matt wasn’t as worried about their physical closeness since they were on the village green, but he was disturbed at the way he felt both happy and worried.

Debby was indulging in a rose-scented bubble bath. She hummed a tune she had been composing, intending to put words inspired by Matthew to it later. She smiled to herself and giggled, remembering Matt’s passionate kisses. As she ran a finger along her smooth, silky leg, she felt pretty. Confident. Giddy. Sensual. Sexy. She hadn’t wanted to let on—she meant what she said about having standards, too—but if he had asked her to bed, she really would have found it hard to resist.

She wanted him, but she would never force his hand. Let him be who he wanted to be; she didn’t want to make him miserable. If he changed his mind about marriage, he could come to her on his own.

For now..For now, it was good just to feel this kind of love glowing inside her. She didn’t need sexual consummation to thrill to real love.

She sobered. All this feeling, this emotion, wouldn’t have been there but for tragedy. Matt never would have been so vulnerable to a woman’s charms if he hadn’t lost his three friends, one of them her own brother. She sunk further into the tub, then just pulled the plug. 

Matt went to sleep muttering Danny’s name.

¼And in his dream he found himself walking along the beach behind their old house.

“You called, Matt?” 

The Four Innocents’ bandleader looked behind him to see Danny. He grabbed his dead friend’s hand joyously. “Danny, yeah¼it’s good to see you.”

“You needed to talk to me?” Danny asked gently.

“Yeah, we need to talk.” Matt led Danny a couple of feet away, and they sat down in the sand. “It’s like this: I’m in love with your sister, Debby.”

“I know.”

“She, well, she makes me feel like I’ve never felt before.”

“Maybe it isn’t me you should be talking to—”

“Oh, ‘cause she’s your sister?”

“No, I mean, you should be talking to Timmy about aroused feelings.”

“Oh, yeah, you and Patrick are—”

“—Natural born celibates,” Danny completed. “Fellas!” he called.

Timmy and Patrick appeared, as though out of a mist. Patrick was holding a young basset hound. “Hey, Matt, isn’t this the cutest puppy ever?”

“I suppose you would know,” the Four Innocents’ bandleader remarked. “What, do you have access to all the dogs that ever were?”

“I mostly stick with ones that were struck by cars. Or put to sleep before they got a chance to live.”

Timmy stood on Matt’s other side. “So, Matt, what’s the deal? This girl is making you rethink your celibacy?”

“Sort of like that. I don’t really want to change, but when she touches me, or when we kiss—well, not only is there the hormonal rush, but I keep thinking she needs a man to care for her and protect her and I could be that man.”

He stood up and gestured at all of them. “But what we had¼I don’t want to erase that.”

“Think of yourself as a widower, Matt,” Danny suggested. “No one calls a widower unfaithful to his first wife if he marries again.”

“We’re beyond petty jealousies now, anyway,” Timmy added.

“But if I were to marry her, I would have to love her more than you,” Matt pointed out. “A man is obligated to love God first, then his wife, then his kids. That may place you well down on the ladder. And the three of you should always be the most important people of my life.”

“Matt, the important thing is what _you_ want,” Danny insisted.

“You don’t think you and Debby will fall into fornication if you don’t marry, do you?” Timmy questioned.

“I don’t know,” Matt answered with a sigh. “I’d like to think I have the willpower. Her, too.”

Patrick put his puppy down, and stood in front of Matt, grabbing his shoulders. “Matt, do _you_ **want** to get married?”

Matt looked into his eyes. “No, not really,” he mumbled.

Patrick let go. “Then it’s as simple as that.” And he, Timmy, Danny, the puppy, and the beach faded into fog.

Matt greeted the morning in rare form—he smiled. He fingered a photo of his old band. “You will always be with me.” As he rose, he sobered. How to tell Debby, how to do what he felt he must do¼

He told her after helping her out at storytelling time. "But where are you going to?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"Matt, does this have anything to do with not wanting to get close?"

He nodded, staring at the ground. "I'm not the lover or husband type." In a sharper tone, he added, "And that's by my own choice, not fear."

"Matt, you don't have to court me," Debby insisted. "Besides, the furthest the two of us ever went is a few kisses. Look, you're lonely and you need somebody. It might as well be me. I won't pester you about marrying me. I just want to be your companion. We don't have to even touch each other."

"But Debby, you're the kind who wants a husband and children someday," Matt argued. "If I hang around, you might not ever get that, and I don't want to take away that chance from you."

"Well, maybe someone will come along while you're still 'hanging around', and sweep me off my feet," Debby pointed out. "Steal me away right from under your nose. How about that? But if you think for one moment that I’m going to allow you to leave and lead a solitary, miserable existence—“

"I don't know how you do it, Debby."

"Do what?"

"Talk me into these things."

"So you'll stay?"

He grinned. "Yeah, I'll stay.”


	7. The Moment of Truth

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE MOMENT OF TRUTH

“I’ve got to ask Matt if he wants to go,” Debby said to Donna.

“He may not want to go back to California,” Donna warned, not unkindly. 

“I have to ask,” Debby pointed out. She walked into the sitting room. Matt was on the couch, looking like he was about to nod off. For some reason, she didn’t exactly feel like sitting down next to him. So she crawled onto his lap.

“Hunh?” Matt blurted.

“Take it easy, I only want to be close to someone,” she pleaded soothingly, praying that he would not object and send her away.

He didn’t. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, Debby forgetting the reason she had come here.

But it was Matt who broke the silence. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

_What?_ She thought worriedly. His statement could mean anything. Was he going to send her away? Had he recanted his celibacy and wanted her to marry him?

He touched her cheek briefly, then shyly looked away. “You are my shade tree,” he mumbled.

“Your..shade tree?” she tried to ascertain.

“My tree in the desert. You know, like the one God provided Jonah with while he waited for judgement on Ninevah—“

“I think I understand.”

“Only Jonah took the tree for granted. Well, I’m not gonna do that. You’re the only blessing in my life right now.”

“Oh, Matt, you’re sweet. But I’m not your only blessing.”

He just stared at her with his soft dark eyes.

“You have your sight,” she explained. “You have your sense of hearing¼” She touched his nose. “Of smell, and taste, and touch. You have two feet for walking. Two hands for playing guitar and writing. You have imagination. You have music. You have a warm place to sleep and food to eat. You have a healthy heart. You have the green lands of England surrounding you.” She tousled his locks. “You still have a full head of hair. Your greatest blessing may be..temporarily..gone, but you are still blessed.”

“Thank you,” he said, back to timid mumbling. “I need to be reminded of that. But that’s why you are a blessing.”

“Oh, Matt!” she exclaimed with a sigh. “For a celibate, you sure can be romantic!”

He looked alarmed. Debby kissed his forehead and got up before he could get too worried. 

“I have something I need to tell you, too.”

“What?” he wondered.

“But it’s not anything profound or deep like you shared with me.”

“Go on.”

“I’ve been invited to check out a bed and breakfast catering especially to British tourists. It’s near Santa Virginia. Do you want to come?”

He thought about this. His first concern was not the one Debby thought it would be. “We won’t be sharing a room alone together, will we? ‘Cause that’d be asking for trouble.”

“Uncle Thomas is coming, too. You’ll like him. He’s the one who taught Danny how to defend himself.”

Matt nodded. “Okay.”

“Take some time to think about it.”

“I said okay.”

Debby blinked. “Okay? Just like that?”

Matt sighed.

“No, no, it’s all right,” Debby said hurriedly. “You know your own mind better than I do. I’ll be glad to have you along.”

Friday, January 21st, 1975

Matt and Debby were strolling the California coastline. Matt was wearing torn jeans and a flannel shirt. Debby was clad in new jeans and a peasant blouse that made her look like the Queen of the Pirates, an effect Matt rather liked, although he kept quiet about it.

“You know, I actually woke up in a good mood this morning,” Matt said, stretching his arms behind his head.

“Well, that’s nice.”

“And I realized—this is what me and the fellas were all about. Celebrating life, laughing at our troubles. I’ve been doing none of that. I feel like I’ve betrayed them.”

“Matt, everyone needs time to grieve,” Debby stated solemnly.

“Well, maybe my time is just about up.” He gasped and stood still as the old beachhouse came into sight. “Or maybe not.”

They stood silently for a moment, staring at the dilapidated home. “I’m going in,” Matt decided. “It’s what I came here to do.”

“If you don’t mind, I’m staying here,” Debby said nervously. “There’s something creepy about that place.”

“Why? None of the fellas died here.”

“There’s just something that’s not right.”

“Oh, why don’t you, I dunno, have tea with our old neighbors, Amity and Francene? We’re in back of their house now.”

Gingerly, Matt stepped into the darkened, dusty house. It was empty of furnishings, devoid of friends, but the memories assaulted Matt's mind, the bittersweetness being hard to bear. There was the bandstand where Timmy's drum set used to lay. 

Matt put a hand on the railing and made his way up the staircase. He entered Patrick's studio, something drawing him to the half open closet. Looking inside, he noticed a canvas that had been overlooked when the house had been left behind. Its face was to the wall, so Matt picked it up, gasping as he did so. It was splattered with red paint, and at first Matt had thought it to be drenched in blood. He slid to the floor. "Oh, Patrick, Timmy didn’t save your life, he merely prolonged your death!" _Is that how I’m living?_ he wondered. _Am I the living dead?_

He then entered the bedroom. The four beds still were there, along with the bureau, having been among the furniture his relatives decided they didn't need to bring to New Mexico. Matt lay down on top of his bed, losing himself in wistful reverie. Absent-mindedly, his hand trailed along on the floor, coming into contact with something cold and metallic. It gave Matt a start. He knelt down on the floor, picking it up. It was actually more than one object, he realized, seeing the three intertwined locket chains. Matt tried to straighten them out, but they had become so entangled together, that he couldn't even tell which links belonged to which locket. He smiled as he stood, for he knew he preferred it that way. Holding the three chains out in his palm, he removed his locket from around his neck and, placing it in his hand, he clenched his fist to help join it with the others.

He suddenly dropped them, for a woman had appeared out of the shadows. "Genie?"

She threw him against the wall. "I have been waiting a long time," she breathed. “It’s a good thing I have contacts in England.”

He tossed her hands aside. "Genie, please!"

She held her dagger's gleaming blade in front of his face. "I do a favor for you, you do a favor for me."

"Threaten to kill me if you want, I don't care. Besides, what favor did you ever do for me?"

She seized his arms, pulling it behind him, and jabbed her weapon against his back. "You will see," she whispered fiercely. Then she raised her voice, calling out to someone else. "Nuke!"

Nuke stepped in, smiling cruelly. "Hello, Matthew, how are you doing? Getting along without your precious bandmates?"

"You--!" Matt blurted incredulously. "I should have known you had a hand in this."

"And you and your friends should have known to mind your own business. You spoiled my business ventures once too often. But even if I didn't want you dead, there would be others. It seems your righteousness made a lot of enemies for you and your precious bandmates."

Matt shook in anger, taking in breaths rapidly. It didn't pay to be good. Genie still held the dagger at his back, but then she started to move it--into his hand. She clasped his fingers around the encrusted handle, and stood back.

She had given him an opportunity he knew he shouldn't let go. Nuke made no move to escape even as Matt stood face to face with him, the dagger poised in mid-air. "You won't kill me," he tested. "I know everything about you, Winward, and you just don't have the conviction to kill."

In the small town western locality Matt came from, the local courts would understand if Matt killed Nuke, and even thought it justified--an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. With this in mind, Matt plunged the dagger downwards, but the old lesson about vengeance being the Lord's flashed in his head once more, and he stopped an inch short of his intended victim's heart, his hand trembling.

"I knew it." Nuke took advantage of this moment, and seized Matt's wrist, yanking the weapon away. Disarmed, Matt backed away nervously, but stumbled and fell into his bed. Before he could make another move, Nuke drove the dagger deep into his chest.

"Stop it!" Genie cried.

Nuke ignored her. He stabbed the last Innocent again.

By this time, Matt realized he was going to be killed. He closed his eyes but did not scream the third time.

Still, Genie could stand his pain no longer. Nuke glanced up to see that he was staring right into her derringer. Without any small talk, she shot him down. 

She checked out the situation as she retrieved her dagger, cleaning it on Nuke's clothes. "You didn't deserve to be killed with this sacred dagger anyway," she told Nuke's dead body.

"Stupid fool!" she spat at Matt as he lay helpless in shock, blood running onto the bed and into his hair. He was afraid to even move, to see how badly he had been cut. "You had the right to kill him!” she continued, ripping open his flannel shirt to check on the wounds herself. “Were you worried about it being a sin? Some preachers say those who take life must die as well." She sighed. She knew she must pay someday for her sins. "I took care of him for you, though, so now your friends are avenged, all right?" She caressed his sweating forehead. "You should've just let me have you. What a waste for a man like you to die a virgin." She grimaced at his wounds, but observed, "It looks terrible, but you may live if you hang on. I think he intended for you to die slowly--in more ways than one. If I can get help..."

He moaned, not so much in pain as in protest. He was tired of trying to survive his three emotional wounds. 

Genie realized how weary his soul was. "Come on, you don't want him to have succeeded, do you? Although at least he won't get to see you die. You'll live, really. Stabbings aren't always fatal." In his eyes, though, she could see that the defiant look of the eagles was no longer present, only exhaustion and pain. She held up her jewelled weapon in a demonstrative manner. “If you die, though, your soul enters the hilt of my sacred knife. Your friends were killed with the same knife, so they will be there, too. It is a sacred knife; it takes in the souls of worthy victims.”

There was no more time to worry about him, though, for she heard the crescending wail of sirens. She saw no reason why they would know to come here, but she didn't want to take chances. Matt touched her hand as she rose. "You've got to stop sometime," he told her.

But without another word, she ran from the room.

Debby found him where Genie had left him not long ago, still breathing but still losing blood. She gasped, but when she had recovered enough from the shock, she knelt down beside him. He could only look at her.

"Please hold on, Matt," Debby encouraged. "I need you. I love you." She then ran back to Francene and Amity’s, to use the phone.

She returned to his side, unable to stay on the phone, which she had tossed to Francene on her way out. Matt was still conscious, and made eye contact with her. “I kept my morals,” he uttered.

“What’s that?” Debby said between tears.

“I could’ve killed him,” Matt explained, his eyes glancing in Nuke’s direction.

“You turned the other cheek,” Debby realized. “When no one would’ve blamed you if you got revenge.” She stroked a lock of hair away from his eyes. “You succeeded.” He looked at her. “You’re not such a failure,” she continued. “You set out in life to follow God’s Word. And you did. You and your bandmates stayed true to what you believed in.”

“I will try..to make it,” Matt promised.

“Matt,” Debby began falteringly. “Just rest easy. If you pull through, I will be here for you. If you must go, my brother and your other two friends will be waiting for you."

His eyes caught hers for a second, and he seemed to be asking if it was all right to do as she had said, to just let go and let whatever happened happen. Tearfully, she nodded, squeezing his hand. "The fellas?" Matt asked hoarsely.

"Yes, you'll get to be together again. All four of you--forever."

Peace came to his face and he closed his eyes. His breathing was shallow. Debby looked down at the floor for just an instant. When she glanced back at Matt, there was no more rise and fall of his chest to accompany his breathing. Downstairs, she heard the medics burst in, too late. “Take good care of him, Danny,” she said aloud and softly.


	8. Dawn

DAWN

I

It was raining out now. Genie lay under the porch of a neighboring house. She thought about Matt, how his convictions had cost him his life. _I’m glad I’m not part of that scene_ , she thought, but realized she didn’t mean it. Nuke had died, too. Where was Nuke’s soul now? And Matt’s? She realized she did believe one was in hell, and one was in heaven.

A long time ago, she had been good, then she turned to a life of crime. There was no way out. She had gone too far. God could never forgive her.

So should she just keep on committing more sins and crimes? What would Matt say? Genie closed her eyes and tried to envision his voice.

Sobbing harder than the rain, Genie relinquished her immorality. She returned to the scene of the crime, where police now where, and announced she was turning herself in.

II

Matt sat up, seemingly still in his own old bed. He found himself unscarred, and dressed in a monk's tunic and jeans. He looked around. It was the boys' bedroom, all right, but he was alone, no bodies on the floor, no blood splattered on the wall. The room did not look like part of an abandoned house, either, but was merrily decorated in bright colors. Matt's ears then picked up the rhythm of a snare drum and cymbals, coming from downstairs.

He stood up, and went to the head of the staircase. Looking down, he saw Timmy at his set. In wonder, Matt stared at him, until finally his drummer gazed up and smiled. It was that same endearing smile Matt remembered so well, the smile their friend Amity had described as being as "sunny as all of Southern California".

He jumped off the drum stool as Matt galloped down the stairs. "Aw, welcome home, Matt!" They embraced each other warmly.

"Long time, Timmy," Matt said quietly, pressing his face against his bandmate's red curls.

"No, I've been with you all this time, Matt, and you know it. And the same goes for the other fellas."

"Then we really are--"

"--Inseparable, Matt, that's right."

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs caused Matt to turn around. Patrick walked down from his studio, a beautiful painting of puppies in his hand. A string of real puppies followed at his heels. He put the canvas down when he saw his bandleader, so that he could greet him with a hug. "Matt? You're here already? We weren't expecting you until later, but I'm glad it's now."

"Still painting, I see," Matt observed.

"Why wouldn't he be?" Timmy wondered. "It's one of his God-given talents. Hey, Danny!" Timmy called out. "Guess who's here?"

Danny bounded onto the porch, into the house, and then enthusiastically leaped upon his songwriting partner. "Oh, Matt, ol' buddy, ol' pal, ol' bandleader of mine."

"Okay, okay!" Matt exclaimed happily, taking the overwhelming affection in stride.

"Reminds you of January sixty-six, don't it?" Timmy recalled. "When you first came back to us to lead our band."

Matt sat down on the armed couch, his friends squeezing in around him. "Well, what can I say, fellas, except it's good to be home. Boy, if I knew I was gonna be back with you so soon, maybe I wouldn’t have been so depressed.”

“Yeah, Patrick felt that way about Timmy,” Danny returned. “And me about Patrick and Timmy.”

“You know what? I think we should pay our respects to the One who brought us back together.”

His friends agreed, and he followed them over the bandstand and out the back door. At last, he was one again with them. He realized that the time spent supposedly apart from them on earth was but a few seconds compared to the eternity they would spend together.

And they lived happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a pattern of my stories to have major character death; it actually means I care about the characters. I want to know their whole life story--in the Four Innocents' cases, from conception (not birth) to death to the beginning of the afterlife. Other writers have their hurt/comfort, where the characters suffer but don't die, or are resurrected, but I kill off permanently, but I am also a strong believer in the afterlife, so there's the "comfort" that way after the "hurt" of death. I suppose I also did "The Four Innocents" this way so no one would take up the story after I left off and have them change their mind about celibacy and virgin innocence, each marrying brides.


End file.
